


Retread

by Grimmy88



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games), Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anxiety, Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Closeted Character, Cockblocking, Communication, Consensual, Consensual Sex, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Nicotine Withdrawal, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Praise Kink, Separation Anxiety, Stitches, Withdrawal, bi panic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-01-29 09:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 104,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21408244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88
Summary: A revisit to Left 4 Dead 2: (Updated Description)This is a take I had on what happens to our survivors during the campaigns, after, and beyond. Told primarily through the framing of Nick and Ellis as they tumble headlong into some sort of a relationship, all four of our favorites will have to face some truths about themselves.Thing is, just when they start to figure these things out -- when they get rescued and believe they'll have more time to KEEP figuring them out -- they find out rescue isn't all it's cracked up to be. But Nick could've told you that.
Relationships: Ellis & Nick (Left 4 Dead), Ellis/Nick (Left 4 Dead)
Comments: 115
Kudos: 149





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am adamant about getting myself out of writer's block and I wanted to revisit one of my favorite, dead fandoms with a 'new' story of things that have probably been posted fifty times before, but if you're like me you don't mind so long as you get to see these two together again. Writing for them again has really helped and felt completely natural.
> 
> I'm writing this alongside two other stories, but this is for my enjoyment since I loved this game so much back when it came out and it, as well as the fandom, meant a lot to me. I hope you get a kick out of it.

Ellis was used to being confused. Really confused, as he had been for a really long time. Though, he guessed five years or so probably wasn’t too long to certain people—_older_ people. But, seeing as he was only twenty-three, five years was a good chunk of his life to have spent confused. Of course, he’d gotten accustomed to it, as anybody would with something so consistent.

He supposed that’s why it was so jarring that things suddenly made sense. It might have also been because he’d stopped mid-fight when the realization had locked him up and it had almost gotten him pounced. Only Nick’s arms and shoulders, aiming and flexing with the little jerking motions of his SCAR had stopped that attack before it could even land, sending the Hunter’s lifeless corpse to sail harmlessly by.

Ironically, it had been those shoulders and arms that had distracted him in the first place.

“Head in the game, kid!” The northerner yelled over the sound of gunfire and screeching.

Ellis listened, dropping to a knee to add his bullets to his friends’ barrage until the infected running for them were lying in a bloody semi-circle, dead for good. He didn’t have a moment to feel chagrinned because Nick was on him immediately, poking an elbow into one of his pectorals.

“Girl says two sentences to you and your head’s already in the clouds?” He was smirking, already familiar with Ellis’ behavior and temperance in a way only fighting for survival could make someone. It seemed like only the youngest member understood that about him; that his words, barbed as they were, were actually softening into jokes. In defense of his friends, though, sometimes it _was_ hard to recognize.

The mechanic tried not to show the guilt on his face, was about to make some lame joke back to help cover it up, but his teammate just smiled all the wider, straight, white teeth flashing, and that made it hard to figure out what order his words were supposed to go in.

At the very least, the bigger man had mistaken his distraction for something a little more innocent.

“Don’t tease him, Nick,” Rochelle admonished as she crossed by to get into the building before them.

“Oh? What about you, then?”

“What _about_ me?”

“I’m just saying: vest-monkey seemed _very_ willing to help you.”

“Probably because I didn’t call him that to his face.”

“His face could’ve been a little closer for my fist’s liking.”

Ellis let them go with a chuckle at the reporter’s weary sigh. He turned it into a smile at the roll of Coach’s eyes as they made to follow. He cast one last look over his shoulder to the bridge where the other survivors waited for their arrival at the other side of the river.

The girl—young woman—was cute, and it had been his first instinct to flirt with her. Well, he’d tried anyway… he’d messed it up pretty quickly and it seemed to him that she hadn’t found him nearly as cute as he did her. Still, he would’ve done the same if he’d seen her in a bar or something. It had seemed a normal thing, too. What he was supposed to do.

He was supposed to be attracted to her. To women. That’s why Nick’s arms and shoulders being a sudden distraction brought those five years of confusion slamming right back into him harder than that Hunter ever could have.

Sure, he’d noticed how white the older man’s teeth were (when he’d finally started giving full smiles and not malicious smirks), or how well his stubble complimented his complexion, or how clear and gray his eyes were… but, in that moment, the white suit-jacket, usually too big on the northerner, had pulled tight and Ellis had seen the broad line of shoulders and thick bulge of muscle hidden away. And he’d liked what he’d seen. He’d been attracted to what he’d seen, and he supposed that both cleared a few things up and opened a whole new box of questions.

He hadn’t realized how _thick_ the older man was. _In a good way, not…_ and here his thoughts stuttered, just like his step when Coach laid a big hand on his back and guided him inside. Rochelle’s pink shirt was already disappearing into a hallway in the back of the wrecked shop.

“Found some pills,” Nick called a moment later, “and I think a way forward.” He was pointing to some stairs when they joined him. Coach led the way up, Ro followed, and the conman hung back so he could toss the newfound bottle at Ellis.

He caught it at his belly and looked up from under the brim of his hat. “You don’t need it?”

“Nah. You ran out after the mall, didn’t you?”

Well, sure he had but he hadn’t expected anyone else to have noticed. He wasn’t able to comment on it, however, since they were already moving.

“Don’t let Nick see this,” they heard Rochelle joke above them. When they reached their teammates, Ellis understood the joke: there was a small bar attached to the back of the store. There weren’t many bottles lining the shelves, but gray eyes narrowed on them all the same as if they were liquid gold.

“Not really keen on getting wasted during a zombie apocalypse,” he retorted. “But, there’s at least three mollies if we have any handkerchiefs to make them.”

They did, and armed with their new combustibles they headed back out into the night where a light rainfall had begun. The backstreets were blocked, same for the path to their right. Ellis fell to Nick’s side again as they traversed it, and he really hadn’t meant to, but he and the conman were the best shots after all, it made sense that they take up the rear and give cover fire.

Made perfect sense to walk right beside each other. Perfect sense. Before long, however, Nick was no longer beside him. He’d stopped a few feet back, his head tilted and eyes up on the terraced street they were heading up. They paused on every car parked along the way that blocked their view of danger.

“What’sa matter?” Ellis asked, keeping his voice low.

Nick’s lips clicked, a barely audible sound when he drew in a breath to answer. “How much you wanna bet there’s a Tank up there?”

“Man! Don’t say that! You can’t just put that out into the world!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” They started walking again. “Put it out in the world?”

“Yeah,” the younger man nodded rapidly. “You say that shit out loud and you’re asking for somethin’ to go wrong.”

The northerner snorted. “You made that up.”

“I’m serious! My ma always said people shouldn’t say bad stuff ‘cause spoken word is powerful. Don’t you know that’s what people from olden-times believed?”

“Sounds like superstitious bullshit.”

“My ma ain’t--!”

“Not your mom, kid,” Nick placated.

“Shh!” They were shushed by Rochelle with a wave of her dainty hand. She motioned for them to crouch down like she and Coach were behind a haphazardly abandoned bus.

“Tank,” their leader muttered when they squatted close. “Lumberin’ around up there, right in the way.”

Ellis physically felt the smugness take over his face. He tried not to let his teeth show in the smile that pulled across his mouth. But he did direct it all at the man next to him.

Nick looked up without moving his head, nostrils flaring as he drew in a deep sigh. He looked both annoyed and resigned. “Not a word, Cletus.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Which wasn’t the truth, but still.

“What do we do?” Ro asked.

“He’s a walker… maybe he’ll keep on going,” Coach said. “Let’s stay hidden.”

“Until he throws a car on us,” Nick added.

“Man, what did I tell you?” Ellis was tempted to give him a playful swat with his hat; it’s what he would’ve done with Keith or Dave. What he might have done with some girl he wanted to tease. So…maybe that’s why he didn’t—that and bad hat hair.

Coach’s decision was the right one. They’d had to shimmy around the bus to stay out of sight as the giant monster meandered away. They watched it heft itself over a wall they’d never be able to climb.

He hoped the monster wasn’t going to be an issue later because as far as the young man could tell that was the direction they were headed. He didn’t need to say it, judging by the looks on his friends’ faces, so they moved on. There were a few guns in the apartments they searched as well as some ammo so they took everything they could. When they emerged at the top to another fenced street it forced them into a small park, walled in by hedges.

The rain had picked up, fat and fast, veiling the actual size of the area. The wind was bad, too, with the rumbles of thunder carried on its currents from a ways off. That seemed to aggravate the few infected inside. He heard their angry shrieks before they came, alone or in small numbers, to attack. Each of their foursome called out their targets.

After, they walked over the fallen bodies and something caught Ellis’ eye. The zombies were dressed different, and not just different but way too nicely for an apocalypse.

“Holy shit,” Nick announced, breath huffy with a laugh. “It’s a wedding.”

“Poor bride,” Rochelle said, voice laden with remorse.

The sound of a woman—an infected—weeping permeated through the raindrops. She was sitting before them, blocking the middle of an aisle that led to a gazebo and their way out. She sobbed, as all of her kind did, into her overgrown claws. Her dress was tattered and her veil torn.

“A witch in a wedding dress. Reminds me of my ex-wife.”

That earned him a dark look from the woman beside him and one of incredulity from Ellis.

Nobody was looking at him, not that the mechanic could’ve hid his surprise anyway. He didn’t know _why_ he was surprised. People got married… he just hadn’t expected Nick to be one of them with his work, he guessed. And of course he had an ex-_wife_. He’d had a wife. Most men were straight. That was normal. Not everyone had been confused like him and he had no right to feel any sort of way about it. He had no right to feel like a bitter, little hand was inside him, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

He also had no right to be reassured when his mind pointed out helpfully that this meant the other man was single. He had no right to feel hope through all that confusion.

“She’s right in the way. We try to get by and someone’s gonna set her off,” Ro said.

“Dammit,” Coach supplied helpfully.

Ellis felt a little sad for the crying figure. Mostly afraid, but a little sad. “You think she’s cryin’ ‘cause she was left at the altar?”

Nick’s brows furrowed and he made a scoffing sound through his nose. “You should go make her feel better, Overalls.” He waited a beat before ribbing further. “Maybe go get that dress for your girlfriend?”

“No, thanks. I ain’t goin’ near the cryin’ girl.”

“C’mon, Ellis. Give the bride a kiss; she might give you the dress.”

The younger man laughed and shook his head, averting his eyes.

“Guys,” the Cleveland-native berated. “Focus. We need a plan here.”

None of them had a shotgun, but Ellis did have a sniper rifle. Still, if he missed it meant his insides would be on the outside real quick. He cast a glance around them despairingly, but that stopped right fast when he spotted a propane tank a few feet from their position.

“I gotta idea,” he declared.

The reporter followed his gaze. “I don’t think that’s very smart.”

“You surprised by that?” Nick quipped, smirking away Ellis’ look.

“Son, if you miss…” their oldest member trailed off.

The conman crossed his arms over his gun. “You know it won’t explode, right?”

“What? ‘Course it will.”

“Nope. Hollywood lied to you, kid.”

“I saw Keith do it once!”

“He shot a propane tank and it blew up?”

Ellis pursed his lips because there _had_ been some fire involved.

“But,” Nick said, voice as close to pacifying as they’d heard yet as he withdrew one of their recently made molotovs, “we toss the tank, shoot it, and _then_ light it up?” Here he indulged the young man’s grin with a quirked, encouraging eyebrow.

“Nick…” Coach’s voice stalled again, but he had no argument to make so he repeated, “dammit” and pulled Rochelle away.

“Okay,” the gambler murmured, taking the tank and hefting it up. “I throw and hopefully it lands close enough… I light the mollie, you shoot, and we hope she gets blown to pieces.”

“An’ we run like hell if she don’t.”

“Fuck, I should’ve gotten drunk.”

They followed the plan to a tee, not sure whether to whoop or shit themselves when the tank landed and actually rolled all the way until it tapped into the rocking zombie. Ellis decided on neither, aiming hurriedly when that veiled head lifted. Then her growling started and he saw fire out of the corner of his eye.

“Shoot!” Nick ordered once the witch’s growls amplified. She was putting her talons to the ground to help her rise.

Ellis did and she screamed. One suited arm snapped forward and the grass erupted in licking flames; once they caught the leaking propane, the tank blew.

He and Nick stumbled through the shockwave, both seeking out the other’s arm for balance. They held on for a beat before a horrific screech tore through the storm.

“Shit!” the bigger man blurted in panic, rightfully so since he was the one who started the fire. He knew it and _she_ knew it.

The bride sprinted through the flames at him, screaming and flailing her arms. The dress was burning away in pieces from around her and her chalk-like skin was charring.

“Shoot the witch! Shoot her!” Nick cried as a mantra as he unloaded. Coach and Rochelle followed the order.

Ellis dropped to a knee and willed his heart and palms to steady. The emaciated infected was stuttering through the gunfire cutting into her torso, but her rage and the infection were refusing to let her fall. The southerner had time for one breath, just one and then the angle he needed came and hesitating wasn’t an option.

It was his bullet that did her in, but he knew it was just the final blow, knew it would’ve counted for nothing if not for all the damage the team had dealt together. Still, it was his bullet, a shot that took off a quarter of her skull that sent her body solidly to the grass.

“Nice one!” Rochelle crowed immediately.

Nick heaved a shaky, relieved sigh. Then he added to the woman’s praise: “You’re getting the hang of this, Ellis.”

Ellis wished the back of his neck didn’t burn so bad at that. He smiled wide, feeling his cheeks bubble from it. That smile was cut a bit short, though, since the collective shouts of a horde were drawing closer, beckoned by the screams of the fallen bride.

The foursome backed into each other, each taking a cardinal direction, and saw to the wedding guests.

“Gotta say,” Nick said. “Wasn’t the worst wedding I’ve been to.”

“There wasn’t any cake,” Coach reminded and lamented.

“And there wasn’t a tank in a tuxedo, so we should count ourselves lucky,” Rochelle told them.

Ellis laughed aloud at the mental image from where he was peering through the bars of the safe room door. Ahead of them was an alley they’d have to take to continue. It was still raining, but if they gave it a few minutes the heaviest part of the storm would pass.

“Y’all think the car’s okay?”

“Son,” their eldest member liked to call him that, “you do know at some point we’re gonna have to leave her behind.”

The mechanic scoffed. “Funny, Coach.”

“It’s not like the military’s gonna strap a car to the bottom of a helicopter!”

“Ellis, sweetie,” Rochelle took over, “at the very least… somewhere down the line do you think we could trade up for… I don’t know… working doors and a backseat?”

“Rochelle,” Ellis chastised, “that car is like family now. Hell, we all agree that biker dude is cool but we ain’t swappin’ him out for Nick.”

There was a beat. “Uh… actually, does anyone want to put that to a vote?”

The other northerner threw out his arms in question and offense.

“No,” Coach said immediately, surprising them all. “I don’t trust him. How do we know he’s not gonna leave us to the zombies?”

Their youngest member shook his head. “Nah, he seemed like a good dude.”

“I’m with Coach,” Nick piped in. “Let’s go kill the biker.”

Rochelle groaned.

The conman pounced on it. “Careful everyone, don’t shit talk Rochelle’s new boyfriend.”

“Are you done?”

“What’s the matter? Playing hard to get? C’mon, Ro, there’s about nine guys alive in the world and you ain’t getting any younger.”

“He _is_ better looking than you,” the reporter shot back.

Nick snorted in amusement. “Right.”

“And he’s not a complete asshole.”

“Go to hell,” he commanded, sharp and cold as one of the katana swords they’d seen.

“Enough of that shit!” Coach barked, jolting Ellis out of his shock. “We need to pull together as a team!”

Their female teammate lowered her eyes tactfully. The other combatant, however, shook his head, kept the sneer on his face, and crossed to the exit. Ellis moved out of his way and then followed him out. The conman was almost always angry or annoyed at the apocalypse, but this scenario, one with potshots being made at his character, seemed to be familiar territory. Maybe especially coming from women… so by the time they made it to the main street he’d already refocused his attention on their journey.

And then when they found a tattoo parlor, he was back to cracking his sarcastic jokes.

“I’ve never done a colored tattoo,” he announced, eyeing the samples on the wall.

Ellis gave him a curious look.

“I’m serious.”

From there the mechanic perked up and took over. “Oh, man! I love tattoos! I only got the one but I was thinkin’a puttin’ my truck on my other arm.” Then he remembered. “…Goddamn zombies.”

Nick shook his head.

“I got this one… and this one… hell, I got most’a these!” Coach proclaimed.

Rochelle tried not to look him over. “_Where_?”

“Coach keeps his secrets.”

The woman shot Ellis a horrified look that he could only laugh, sharing his grin with the gambler as he walked by to peruse the wall. When he returned his lips were quirked at one side.

“Hey, Rochelle, want me to tattoo your boyfriend’s name on your arm?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, damn. I didn’t get his name.”

“I’ll just tattoo ‘greasy pig,’ we all know who we’re talkin’ about,” he couldn’t get through the sentence without breaking down into laughter.

The reporter shook her head, exasperated, and looked to their youngest teammate. “You think it’s funny?”

The southerner blinked and then realized his face was cracked in a grin. He willed it away. “Uh, naw.”

“And I defended you about that girl,” she clicked her tongue at him and followed Coach out of the parlor.

Nick nudged him, then. “Yeah, did you get her name, by the way? ‘Cause I can tattoo it on your ass. Girls like that.”

Ellis felt the color pool into his cheeks. When the other man grinned he knew he’d been silent too long so he nudged right back. “Man, I thought we were makin’ fun’a Ro.”

“Everybody’s game, kid.”

Ellis took that comment to heart because when they made it to an ‘Under the River Tour’ and found themselves staring down a sewer, he didn’t hold back his own ribbing.

“Need a push, Nick?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Only way forward,” Coach told them.

“No fucking way. Do you smell that?” Nick demanded.

“Well, you can’t stay here the rest of your life!”

The conman looked like he wanted to protest that, but Ellis cut him off when he swung down, digging into the handholds on the column leading down with his hands and boots. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”

Well, none of them joined him in a great hurry, but they each knew that being left alone meant death. When Nick acquiesced and dropped down to join them he let out an anguished groan. They shot down the few infected it drew out.

As they walked whatever was under them _squished_.

“It’s just a storm sewer… just a storm sewer,” the disgusted man repeated to himself.

“Don’t smell like one,” Ellis teased. “…Hey! I found a candy bar! …Whup… false alarm.”

“Jesus Christ, Ellis!”

By the time they had to renter the water to find the exit, Nick’s ability to shake off the constant prodding from his teammates had evaporated.

“Hey, Nick, time for your bath!”

“I hate you, Ellis!”

“Well,” the mechanic said, matter of fact and trying not to sound soft or hurt, “I still like you, Nick.”

The other survivors had decked out the safe room leading to them. There were two first aid kits and ammo to collect. While his group of survivors prepared to meet their new friends, Ellis felt nerves start to take hold. He’d already made a fool of himself once. Now that he’d recognized his attraction to two different people, two different genders… he wasn’t sure how to handle a situation where both of them would be so close at one time.

“Hey, Ellis,” one of those two people called. “We’re about to see that girl again, right?”

“Don’t need to remind me, Nick!” he hissed. “I am a nervous wreck over here! What do I---…”

“You just be your own sweet self,” the Ohioan directed.

“That’s what Rochelle’s gonna do—though I think her boyfriend’s already ready to propose,” Nick said.

She shook her head.

“No?” Those broad shoulders shrugged. “You’re right, he probably left already.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” she protested.

“You know him that well?”

“I just got a good feeling.”

“You get good feelings about every scumbag who lives on a bridge?”

“Naw, man,” Ellis interjected, “he don’t live there.”

Nick leveled him with a blank look.

“No, he doesn’t _and_ he’s probably long gone,” Coach grumbled.

“Come on, guys. He seemed like a cool dude.”

“I bet the moment we left he stole the Jimmy Gibbs.”

Ellis’ face fell as low as his voice. “I will kill him. I will _kill_ him. Everybody, N’Orleans is gonna hafta wait, we gotta biker’ta track down.”

“Great, thanks, Coach,” Rochelle sighed for maybe the twentieth time. She accepted Ellis’ smile easily enough, though.

Turns out the guy hadn’t taken the car, in fact the three of them had only moved from one side of the bridge to the other. They were waiting on a platform hovering just above the landing of the steps Ellis’ group took to get to them.

“Hey,” their new, third member greeted. He was seated and wore dress pants and a nice shirt. The apocalypse must have caught him at work.

“Yeah, hey,” Nick groused. “Thanks for telling us about the goddamn sewer.”

The biker pointed at him, sudden and fierce. “WITCH!”

After a moment of silence, where pretty much everyone shared looks, he laughed.

“Oh, sorry,” he said through his mirth. “Got confused by all your bitchin’.”

The conman scoffed. “Whatever.”

“Seriously! I’m surprised a fancy ass like you made it!”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I knew your _lazy_ ass would still be here.”

“Guys,” the college girl interrupted in exasperation. “Can we talk about lowering the bridge?”

“I’m not talking to _him_,” Biker-dude simpered. He pointed again, this time in a different sort of aggressive manner at Rochelle. “I’ll talk to _her_.”

She gave a brief, startled laugh while the rest of both groups either groaned or rolled their eyes.

“You said you’d help us,” the reporter reminded him.

“Oh, I will. Whatever you need help with, darlin’.”

The other group’s female member made a face. “Wait. You and _him_?”

“Do we need to leave you two alone?” Nick added.

“Yeah!” the man in the vest crowed.

The skin of Rochelle’s face darkened. “No, no, no, no…” There was a bit of a smile there, though, as far as Ellis could tell.

“People,” Coach said, trying to get everyone back on track. “The bridge?”

“We can help you,” the office worker responded. “I’m Louis. This is Zoey and Francis.”

Zoey. It was a cool-sounding name. “I’m Ellis. This is Nick, Rochelle, and Coach.” He motioned as he spoke.

“Great to meet you. Glad to see other survivors.”

“And in a nice car!” Zoey said, trying to lighten and redirect the mood.

“Yeah?” The mechanic swallowed. “Yeah. Nice stock car there.” And he really couldn’t help but list off all the ways Jimmy Gibbs Jr. was an amazing car, starting with her engine, and build, and tires…and he was sure he kept it light and interesting, but by the time he was finished he could see how unfocused her eyes had become.

“Well, that all sounds impressive.” Well, that was a strike against her. Sure, Nick had made fun of Jimmy Gibbs himself, but he’d sure as hell had wanted to drive the car. He’d even let Ellis explain the specifics of her during the ride, at least until they’d been forced to stop.

He swallowed again, as if the physical motion would will away the mental comparison.

“Isn’t that Jimmy Gibbs Jr.’s stock car?” Francis asked, leaning on the rail that separated them.

“Sure is!”

“Nice! How’s it handle?”

“Eh… pulls a little to the left.”

“People,” Coach refocused them yet again.

“Sorry,” Ellis muttered, glancing away, unintentionally meeting Nick’s eye. He looked as weary as Coach, but all the same he gave the younger man the tiniest of smirks.

“You’ll have to go up and fill the generator,” Louis explained. “Then we’ll lower the bridge from up here. Got plenty of ammo and a mounted machine gun to cover you.”

“Mighty appreciated.”

“Then what?” Nick questioned. “You three just going to stay here?”

“Last hold out’s in N’Orleans,” Ellis explained. “Y’all wanna come with us?”

“No way,” the girl said immediately. She shot the gambler a quick, dark look that disappeared the moment she looked away.

“We’ve had enough of the military,” Francis said.

“Why?” Nick hadn’t seen the look or hadn’t seen a point in addressing it. “What are they doing?”

“Don’t get him started,” Louis advised. “The sooner we get that generator working the sooner you’re on your way. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Nick frowned and looked to the others as they moved to the elevator. Whatever he wanted to say was kept to himself, though, maybe because he recognized that Rochelle and Coach wouldn’t be too inclined to listen. At the bottom he went opposite of them, into the safety of the building to find gas. Ellis went with Coach’s guidance to search the bar the three survivor’s had barricaded to secure the second floor. There were no enemies inside, so the older man left him to it.

Inside he found a handgun, a pool table, broken bottles, and a canister of gas on the upper level. He admired the room for a minute before remembering himself and picking up the red jug. He loped down the stairs easily and made for the exit. He was about to announce his find but Nick’s voice, just outside the bar, stopped his voice and feet short.

“Hey, uh, hey?” He was calling up to the trio above them.

“What?” Zoey spit, a little too coldly since the conman’s voice had been free of derision or an attitude of any kind.

“I just--…” he gave a long exhale, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

There was a heavy pause and then the college kid managed a sorrowful, “thanks” before her footsteps tapped away.

Francis sighed, apparently left behind. “It’s getting harder; there’s not many of us left, brother.”

“Yeah,” Nick responded, voice full of understanding, devoid of all edge. And his understanding was clear. It could never be said the northerner didn’t know he could be a right dick. Now, he seemed to be catching himself all the quicker. He seemed to be more trusting—in nothing else then at least in his friends’ judgment.

Ellis swallowed again, throat dry, and was glad he didn’t have to hide his prideful smile.

“Yeah,” came the repeat. “I’m starting see that. Look, sorry for being an ass. Thanks for the help.” Now, that part did sound an awful lot like pulling teeth, but the fact that it was said at all was a milestone.

“I get it,” the biker replied. “Don’t worry. We’ve got your backs, we’ll make sure you and your friends make it.”

The gambler’s shoes scuffed, as if he’d made to turn away but thought better of it.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Just make sure you watch Rochelle--…”

“That I can _promise_.”

Nick sighed, loudly. “Watch her and the kid’s backs. Him especially. Thinks he’s invincible sometimes.”

Francis laughed. “You got it.”

Ellis waited, counted out his heartbeats for a long thirty seconds, and then cautiously made his way out. The man in the white suit had walked away, however, to stand next to the generator. He crossed the street to join him, uncapping the gas as he approached.

“Got one,” he announced, lifting it and pouring its contents inside.

“Why doesn’t anything have enough gas in it?” Nick asked, rhetorically. “Mark my words, before the end of this we’ll have to fill something else up with gas.”

“Well, yeah,” Ellis said, tossing the empty can aside, “we’re drivin’ta N’Orleans.”

He got another sigh for that, but didn’t have time to ask what it was about because their other teammates joined them. They had two cans, and that didn’t seem so safe to wander to and fro with everybody’s arms full of gas instead of guns. Coach agreed and declared that he and Nick would carry at least two canisters each while Rochelle and Ellis covered them. The mechanic didn’t argue and figured he’d been picked ‘cause he was the best shot, but he also figured he’d be able to carry two just as readily.

Still, he did as he was bid, borrowing Nick’s SCAR for it. It took them a couple times of venturing out because each time they’d attempted to start up the generator it had sputtered with loud, zombie-attracting cranks instead of working. That had, unfortunately, gotten the attention of one tank, too. What was fortunate, though, was Louis ripping the grossly misshapen, muscular form apart with that mounted machine gun.

The last bit of zombies that came at them at the sound of the bridge lowering suffered the same fate. It was enough to make Ellis laugh as he ran back to his car.

“I take back everything I said,” Nick shouted. “Thanks, you three!”

“Thanks, guys!” Ellis called over his shoulder. “Jimmy Gibbs, I’m comin’, baby!”

She started up real easy and the southerner didn’t have to run down any zombies on the bridge, though he did wince a bit at the bodies he was forced to crunch under her wheels, lamenting his poor girl’s suspension, to finally get out of Rayford.

Rochelle had been right—the car wasn’t made for road trips. The three others had bars to sit on and so there wasn’t much of a chance for them to settle in and relax. Not that it mattered too much ‘cause Coach was the next one to be right:

They never got the chance to fill up Jimmy Gibbs because the blockade that they came upon later that night went on for miles. Ellis would’ve grieved at the idea of all those people feeling trapped if he hadn’t been so heartbroken about the car.

“Sorry, guys,” Ellis told his friends once they’d set foot to the asphalt. “Guess drivin’ wasn’t such a hot idea after all.”

“Don’t sweat it, Ellis,” Nick reassured. He was handing out the supplies from inside the car. “At least you got us outta that mall.”

The mechanic nodded, warmed. He laid a hand atop the blue paint job. “Could you guys give me a minute? …Alone? With the car? I just—just got some things I wanna say.”

“Uh,” Rochelle laughed, then frowned when she realized he was serious. “Probably not the time.”

Ellis was already muttering his praises and goodbyes to the metal, though.

“Too bad that guy wasn’t a monster-truck driver,” Nick joked. “God damn you, Jimmy Gibbs!”

His eyes were on the young southerner, gauging whether his teasing had worked to make him feel better. It had, but Ellis tried not to let it show how much. “That ain’t funny, Nick.” He accepted the pat on his back, though, and followed it.

Going along on foot turned out to be for the best, and not only because it got them around the cars, but it got them running through Whispering Oaks of all places. It was a place that he, and apparently Coach, used to frequent when they were both younger. It wasn’t the most amazing place, but the bassist recalled a lot of good memories from years long gone.

The only downside was that the zombies had interrupted some Midnight Riders show. Feeling like a badass, zombie-killing machine aside, these infected were really starting to make him mad.

“We got time to play some games?” Ellis asked as they passed some.

“The sound’ll attract a horde,” Coach said, denying him. “We should focus on findin’ some food... I’m starvin’.”

“Yeah,” Nick snorted. “_You’re_ starving to death.”

“Nick,” Rochelle started to admonish, but the large man just laughed it off.

“One’a us has gotta be the muscle.”

“Muscle,” the gambler said, raising one hand, “fat,” he labeled the other. Then he shrugged, pressing his luck with a grin. “Semantics.”

“Don’t push it,” the ex-footballer said. Still, they fell into step with one another as they looked around the snack bars. “…But keep an eye out for cotton candy.”

Something squeaked a ways in front of them in the warehouse they were about to use to circumvent the fences. It was dark inside and their sweeping flashlights didn’t catch anything. It was only after Ellis’ slapping hand fumbled a light switch on that they could see.

The squeaking came from the very red, oversized shoes of an infected.

Ellis blanched. “Clowns?!” He gave a grunt when the conman smacked his arm. It was too late, though. The infected, with white-grease smeared on his skin, eyes glowing, feet squeaking, and orange wig bouncing, bee-lined right for them. Other, normal infected came out of every nook and cranny to follow him.

“He’s attracting zombies; kill him!” Ro yelled.

The zombie took a few more bullets than normal to take down, but his squeaking stopped when he fell. The other infected slowed a bit, but their rage seemed to have abated with the sound. They’d seen the survivors, though, so they didn’t stop completely until they were soaking the floor with black blood.

“Okay,” Nick proclaimed. “Kill every clown you see…and don’t scream.”

“I didn’t _scream_,” Ellis argued. “That was just creepy.” He’d never been the biggest fan of clowns but that didn’t mean he’d been scared—just surprised. Their brightly colored figures coated in blood and guts just struck a real strange picture. He mulled over this, at least until he was properly distracted when they moved into a different part of the park.

“Oh my god, guys,” he couldn’t control the volume of his voice; “It’s Kiddie Land!”

The others shared a laugh at his delight. Nick was shaking his head, probably trying to shake away his smile, too. “He’s like a five year old. With guns…and a comprehensive grasp of every swear word in the English language.”

“It _does_ feel like we’re babysitting sometimes,” Rochelle teased.

“C’mon, this is some awesome shit!” Ellis cheered. “And look, Coach! I see some food stands!”

“Think there’s anything left?” Coach asked. He let the other two men take point.

“Probably,” Nick said, over his shoulder. “The power’s still on so fridges and freezers should be working.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.”

The door to get to the kitchens behind the serving area was locked. It took their leader and youngest member ramming their shoulders into it together to break off the lock. It was sore work, but well worth it once they got inside ‘cause not only was there still food in the fridges, but a bunch of preservative-laced junk food lining the storage closet in the back.

“Jackpot,” Ellis blurted, grabbing a bag of Doritos.

Coach already had a bag open. The two northerners at least had the decency to wash their hands before they touched anything. Ellis figured the water was safe enough to clean with—if being puked on and scratched wasn’t enough to infect them, some hot water wasn’t going to, either. He washed the grit from his skin when they were done.

Nick peered into one of the freezers. “…Pizza, burgers, or hot dogs?”

“Pizza,” Rochelle said immediately.

“Nah, a big, juicy burger sounds mighty fine right now,” their leader contested.

“Good, because I don’t want to share my pizza.”

“Pizzas will probably cook the fastest—unless one of you has worked a flat top before? No?” Nick pulled out four circles of dough, cheese, and sauce. “Sorry, Coach.”

“As long as it’s bad for me, I’ll be just fine.”

“Well, these might clog up your arteries the rest of the way.”

They didn’t take too long to make, and it was nice, Ellis thought, to sit around drinking soda, eating chips, and talking in the meantime.

“Not the worst place to hold up,” Nick said after a swallow of Coke.

“I could stay right here and be happy,” Coach agreed. He was shoving candy bars into the open spaces of his first aid kit. The mechanic took note and did the same with whatever free room he had on his person.

“Not how I thought I’d spend my time in the south, though.”

That was something he’d been wondering about the gray-eyed man. So he asked him: “What _were_ you doin’ down here?”

“Hopping between casino boats,” he said, peeling back the wrapping on a Three Musketeers bar so he could bite into it without actually touching the chocolate. As if an afterthought, he added: “Thank _fuck_ I put all my winnings into the bank.”

“Seriously?” Rochelle asked. “That’s so cliché.”

“More cliché than a reporter coming down to get the ‘big scoop?’”

“Touché.”

Nick sighed. “You know, all we had to do was stay home one extra day.” The woman frowned at him, her forehead creased. They’d both probably had similar thoughts about the would-haves, could-haves, and should-haves.

As far as Ellis was concerned, there was no sense in dwelling on those when nothing could be done to change the past. “It ain’t all bad,” he told them. “We never would’a met otherwise.”

The Ohioan gave him a little smile, but the older man just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, great trade off.”

“Well, _I’m _real glad I met’chya,” he continued, nonplussed until he realized his words had been directed at Nick and there were two other people staring at him. “All y’all. We’re a damn good team.” He was happy for the smell of the pizzas drawing at least Coach’s attention away.

“Worse people to be stuck with,” Nick muttered to Ellis when they rose to get their meal. He was keeping up his theme of worsts, and the younger man didn’t try to keep his smile from his mouth between bites, sauce and mozzarella on his teeth and face be damned.

“Hope we don’t have to run anytime soon,” Rochelle commented once they were done and walking around the side of the building. “I’ll probably puke up mediocre pizza on Nick’s suit.”

She and the gambler hadn’t even finished their pizzas like Coach and Ellis had, but it was funny to their youngest member all the same. “Yeah, might put a different shade of red that’ll clash with all the blood an’ guts.”

The aforementioned man scoffed at their jokes, too busy to do much else because he was leading them up a ladder they’d found. The joke stopped real quick anyway because two seconds after he stood he cried out and his shadow disappeared from sight. Ellis had to listen in horror as his dress shoes scraped the roof for purchase. His hands and feet weren’t getting him up the rungs fast enough and he couldn’t stop the thought, brief as it was, that he’d get up and just find a red smear, or maybe nothing at all ‘cause he’d been pulled off the roof entirely, or…

When he scrambled to the top he felt his stomach sink because although his friend was alive, he couldn’t take a shot to save him. The Jockey on him had wrapped around his muscular, upper body and his legs were moving in an effort to buck the little asshole from his ride. They were getting far too close to the edge of the building for anybody’s liking, so Ellis launched to them and swung out as hard as he could with the butt of his rifle.

The strike made the little gremlin shriek, but it wasn’t enough to loosen its grip. Ellis hit it again and this time Nick grunted, too. The third time he aimed his shot at the deformed, grinning face. There was a spurt of blood and _finally_ those gnarled hands and legs loosened enough for the northerner to jerk free. Before the Jockey could jump again they shot it to death.

“You guys okay?!” Ro demanded, rushing over to check.

“Yeah,” Nick panted, hands on his knees.

“That wasn’t dignified,” Ellis said in disgust. He hated those things the most.

“No kidding,” the man he’d saved agreed. “He didn’t even buy me dinner first.”

Rochelle groaned and followed their leader’s head-shaking form on. Ellis bit his lip to stifle his laughter because the first one had slipped out, sharp and loud.

“What?” Nick asked, straightening to rub his shoulder. He smirked yet again at his remaining teammate as they continued on. “Not that I want to suck Jockey dick.”

“That’s gross, man.”

“Yeah, I prefer living dick.”

The mechanic tripped on the stairs they were taking to get to and around a ride made of giant slides. Thick arms caught him before he could not-so-gracefully face-plant on the metal mesh. Nick smelled like sewer and blood and bile so there should’ve been no way to catch the scent of his sweat and musk underneath it all. No matter how close he’d unconsciously leant into his exposed neck.

“Okay, Overalls?”

“Yeah,” he answered immediately, voice strangled.

Nick righted him and there was a frown marring his face as he tried to meet the mechanic’s elusive gaze. Eyebrows furrowed in his peripheral.

“Problem?” He asked then, voice stony.

“Nope,” Ellis evened his tone and stepped away. Gray eyes narrowed on his feet and the space between them.

“You’re not gonna catch ‘queer’ from touching me.”

The younger survivor was surprised his hat didn’t go flying for how fast his head whipped up. There was no way the brim of it was hiding the shock and worry on his face, anyway.

“What—no!” he choked in protest. “That’s not—…”

“Come on, y’all,” Coach called. He was at the bottom of the ride. He’d let gravity carry him down the colorful plastic. The reporter had taken the stairs and Nick followed her route with another quick, dark look back.

Ellis, miserable, didn’t trust his feet so he sat and slipped down, just like the squirming from his chest to his gut. At the bottom the former coach said something, but the cadence of a too-loud heart rang thunderous in his skull and for the next minute or so extraneous sounds were indiscernible to him. He was lucky he had friends looking out for him and no Hunters or Smokers hanging around, because his hearing didn’t come back until they were stopped by the park’s carousel.

“Gotta be this tall to ride,” Nick announced. His voice affected an indifference as he continued, “Sorry, Ellis. You’ll be missed, buddy.”

“Yer a real comedian, Nick,” he replied, hoping the banter would continue, but the older man just kept the back of his dirty suit jacket to him.

In the fight that followed, ushered on by the cacophony of the dancing horses to their music, they didn’t even call out to each other.

He hadn’t expected it to get worse than that, but it was an apocalypse after all and why wouldn’t they have to go through tight quarters in, of all places, a Tunnel of Love?

Inside they took a few minutes to prepare since there were different times of ammo lying in piles as well as another first aid kit. Nick took it, ostensibly because he hadn’t had one, but most likely to keep too many things from weighing down their smallest member.

Ellis would’ve preferred if they hadn’t stopped at all because it gave his mind too much time to think; too much time to go over the misunderstanding once and then again and again. It gave him time to pinpoint the moments he could’ve done anything but what he had. For instance, he probably shouldn’t have pulled away—but then, wouldn’t that have been worse? Wouldn’t it have been _obvious_?

He should’ve answered differently. Should’ve answered _better_. Eloquent isn’t a word anyone would use to describe Ellis, but he was a big fan of talking. There’d never been a time he couldn’t tell a story or joke or fill the silence… except where his feelings were involved, apparently.

Maybe he just had to explain…what? Explain that he’d been surprised, distractingly so, by the knowledge that Nick was just as bi as he was? Explain the hope that had rushed, hot and fast through his chest to seize brain and legs alike? How could he admit any of that when he’d only realized—only _accepted _it—about himself mere hours ago? How could he when he’d purposefully let himself be _confused_ for so long rather than think about it, let alone ever actually saying the words out loud?

And just how was he supposed to explain the hope, anyway? What was it even doing in his brain and chest? Attraction was one thing, but this felt like more. Besides, just because they were both bi didn’t mean a damn thing. Nick had started out being unable to stand him—even threatening to hit him over the nickname he’d given the first helicopter they’d seen. And Ellis wasn’t stupid—he knew it was a bad idea. Nick was a bad idea… wasn’t he?

His other teammates would’ve said so in a heartbeat if he asked out loud, though he never would. But, still, he couldn’t help looking to the northerner and thinking on the change in his actions after only a few hours of knowing them, of knowing Ellis. And he thought about how the edge in his tone had slowly dulled over time, of his recent attempts at asking questions, and most of all about his apologies and concerns shared with a total stranger in Rayford…

As they shoved open the safe room door to go into the attraction, he made eye contact with the gambler briefly. He could only imagine how he looked, because Nick’s brows twitched as if he were unsure whether or not he wanted to hold onto his anger. In the end, he apparently decided he did. Ellis just had to make sure it wasn’t for much longer.

After he figured out how to do that without making a fool of himself first.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He didn’t even know why he’d thought he could say something like that to the kid. Well, that wasn’t the actual truth; it was because Ellis was the kindest of their group and Nick had just assumed… But, lesson learned: don’t assume with southerners when it comes to dick sucking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed a few inconsistencies in the game just to make this flow better, specifically concerning the Screamin' Oak ride. For gameplay reasons you have to start it up and have a crescendo event--in reality, they could've slipped right over the bars.

Nick should’ve known from the moment he’d started winning big on those casino boats that things were going to go to shit. Of course, there’s no way he could’ve known it’d be as bad as a goddamn zombie apocalypse, but something so severe seemed just like how his luck would break. Now he was stuck with two southerners and a woman who hated him while they made their way through a fucking amusement park. And joy of all joys, their current path was leading them through a Tunnel of Love.

“Alright, people,” Coach said as they descended to the fake water. “Stay close.”

“I think we should clarify what constitutes close,” Nick replied, glancing purposefully at their youngest member. At least the brat had the decency to look guilty.

He knew he had nobody to blame but himself. He didn’t know why he’d even said anything and he really wasn’t looking forward to his sexuality being shared with their leader. He seemed like a good, Christian type; the exact type who’d have a problem with it. Not to mention the older man already had several problems with Nick and it had taken a bit to get him—_any of them_—to warm up to him. Sure, that had also been his fault, but he was at least _trying_ now.

He didn’t even know why he’d thought he could say something like that to the kid. Well, that wasn’t the actual truth; it was because Ellis was the kindest of their group and Nick had just assumed… But, lesson learned: don’t assume with southerners when it comes to dick sucking.

He supposed he was more surprised than angry that the kid had been so quick to jump away from him. Real shame for him that they had to walk so close in the narrow quarters of the ride.

He was also angry that he had to be angry. If the redneck opened his mouth it was going to change their group dynamic—it already had. Ellis had been the first, and sometimes it felt like only, person of their group to have his back. Not in the physical sense—anyone would shoot an infected off him, but the younger man had seemed to enjoy talking to him and so was always quick to his defense. That might’ve been because he was too happy-go-lucky to pick up on Nick’s attitude, but his patience had been nice to rely on.

Not to mention teasing the kid had been one of the few things to actually keep his mood afloat. Hell, if he’d been anyone else, Nick would’ve even called their banter _flirting_.

But, he wasn’t, and Ellis had made his discomfort pretty fucking clear. Unexpected, but clear.

And all of that was fine. He only needed these people to survive, better to remember that now.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna fuck with them. “You could almost call this a _cee-ment_ river, Ellis.”

“Yeah, ha ha, Nick,” was his response, dejected and almost lifeless.

“Nick, would you leave him alone already?” Rochelle came to his rescue.

“He ain’t really botherin’ me, Ro—…”

“Whatever you say, boss,” the conman acquiesced, teasing her instead.

“Quiet,” Coach said. He had stopped just before a bend in the long hall-like structure of the ride. “…Thought I heard one of ‘em big ones.” He held out his hand to keep the remainder of them in place while he looked around one of the partitions. Whatever he saw wasn’t enough to worry him, though, since he waved them on.

There were a few of the non-mutated ones and they were much easier to dispatch than the other things. Those freaks sponged up bullets while being three times as deadly as the others. And the ones that were ten times as deadly? Tanks he understood, but how those skinny, pale bitches managed to take so much firepower before going down made no sense. It was like a big middle finger in their already bruised and bleeding faces.

And speaking of middle fingers. There was a garbled grunt and the sound of feet pounding, off-balance and heavy, heading towards them. This was followed up by another cry, like something you hear on _National Geographic _or something. That warning was enough to have him grabbing at the kid’s collar and yanking him as hard as he could from the middle of the path.

It turned out to be a good decision, considering the Charger missed them by millimeters.

It crashed into the curve of the wall just behind them; a blow that stunned it long enough that by the time it turned back to swing its bulbous arm, it had absorbed too much of their lead to do anything but keel over.

“We are getting to be some badass zombie slayin’ machines!” Ellis exclaimed, breathless and excited in the way only he could be.

The other two humored him with smiles, but Nick just moved on and tried not to think about the few inches that kept him from being a bloody splatter on that newly fissured wall.

“C’mon,” he ushered. “Let’s go through the swan maintenance room of love.”

They took a metal staircase up, side by side. Nick walked along with Rochelle across the walkways, through a backroom, and up into the access area for the service vents. It was a dead end until the reporter noted a hole in the floor. It was hard to tell if it was caused by maintenance on the ride before the zombies or after considering how haphazard it looked and the metal support rods curling every which way. Below they could see only a few infected, though judging by the sound there were several more.

“I’kin go first,” Ellis offered though no one had asked.

“Ellis, no,” Rochelle shot him down immediately. She gave the opening an appraising look. “Two people can fit through and go down together. If you go alone, you could get hurt.”

Nick looked at their leader, did a slow take to his stomach, took a breath, and had barely opened his mouth when he was interrupted:

“Don’t even say it,” Coach stopped him, and what could he do but grin at that?

“Me’n Nick could probably fit down first,” their youngest member offered. “Then Rochelle.” He looked to their eldest member for confirmation.

He got it in the form of a nod. The conman didn’t attempt to contain his sigh or eyeroll, but he did sit at the opposite edge from the kid without comment. They made sure their guns were in one hand, pointed down, and then slipped forward, like someone would upon entering a cold pool, meticulous and careful to avoid their clothes snagging on anything as they dropped. The gap was small enough that their chests had to press together and the bill of that dirty hat tapped the conman’s forehead before he leant back with a scowl. Ellis had a weird look on his face until their feet hit the bottom of one of those swans.

“Damn,” the northerner said, a touch cruelly. “Don’t know how you managed to be that close to me, must’ve been hard.” He raised his gun and started firing before he could hear a response, which seemed to annoy the younger man judging by the hard downward curve of his brow as they cleared out the zombies that rushed at them.

He didn’t get the chance to say anything between catching Rochelle and making space for Coach to follow, either. Nick was already leading them out towards the wafting of fresh air. Well, as fresh as it could get when the whole world had started to decay.

The most welcome thing about going outside, though, was the distinctive sound of a helicopter chopping through the night sky above them. It was over them too quickly for them to do much but wave their arms uselessly.

“We gotta find a way to get their attention,” Nick announced.

Ahead there was a room that held some pill bottles and a defibrillator, one of many kept around the park. Good thing there were health and safety codes to keep this place from getting their asses sued. They were definitely saving asses now.

And they’d probably need the supplies, considering their next obstacle was a literal goddamn roller coaster.

“Are you sure this is the only way?”

“Everything else is blocked off,” Coach said, examining the controls.

“Wait…” Ellis drawled, catching on. “We gotta run the coaster? Oh, man! This is the best day of my life!”

“Guess all the dead people don’t count.”

“Stick together,” Rochelle advised, “this isn’t going to be easy.”

“Guess everything that came before doesn’t count,” Nick said, going with his theme. “But, we might not have to turn this one on.” He went to the bars separating them and the track. They were as tall as he was, but easier to climb than a lot of the things they’d been scaling on their journey already. He was able to get his leg over the top, slip through the opening, and land easily on the other side.

The rest followed, and he made an outstanding effort concealing his snicker when their largest member had a bit of trouble and got stuck before Ellis pulled him through.

“Try not to make any noise,” Rochelle said. “Everything in the park can see us up here.”

“Only if they look up.”

“Hunters’ll look up,” Ellis said, “…and Smokers…and Jockeys and Chargers and—…”

“Let’s start being quiet with your voice,” Nick snapped.

They had to focus on their footing as they took the initial hill considering there was no maintenance ladder. Apparently, southerners didn’t care about safety measures or updating their decades old coasters. It was like everything was purposefully designed to be a goddamn death trap in the case of an emergency.

Not that anyone could’ve foreseen an amusement park being used as a refuge against zombies. Go figure.

Still, fuck those engineers.

At the _very _least the outdated design meant they didn’t have to deal with any loops or corkscrews. Still, they took it slow and stayed together, eyes on every part of the track where there were no rails. It seemed like, maybe, for two minutes, they’d gotten lucky when Nick saw that they wouldn’t have to climb nor drop down from the biggest of the hills. That was before Rochelle gave a scream.

Why their tiniest member was in the back, he didn’t know. It seemed to have become an unspoken thing between him and Coach that the two younger members be in the middle of situations like this as much as they could consciously help. On Coach’s part it was him playing dad—Rochelle was a woman and Ellis was young. Nick, however, had seen how often the infected went after them and their brightly colored clothes.

Besides, the sound of Ellis screaming was one of the worst things he’d ever heard.

Rochelle’s was second to that.

They acted immediately; Nick and Coach lunging out to grab her arms before she was dragged completely off the track. Her hands clawed at the forearm of each man, holding on for her life while the Smoker’s tongue pulled at her waist.

“Cut it!” She screamed, pained and terrified. The coil around her pulled all the tighter and she gasped in response. The choking noises she made after that were worse than the shriek had been.

“Knife in my right pocket!” Nick yelled, jamming his feet between planks to anchor himself.

Ellis, who had immediately drawn his rifle to see if he had a shot, apparently hadn’t found one. He dropped his gun in haste and retrieved the switchblade. He flicked it open with the comfort only a weapons-obsessed redneck could have and reached out.

“Y’gotta pull’er closer!”

The conman swore, but pulled, thankful for Coach’s strength helping him. They managed to get her close enough so that the kid could start sawing at where the tongue extended back towards its owner. Less chance of her getting cut that way.

Unfortunately, the Smoker gave its own ear-ripping screech at the pain.

“Ellis!”

“I got it, I got it!”

And he did, suddenly Rochelle was free and the momentum sent Nick and Coach back on their asses. The journalist cried out again as she smacked into the wooden beams holding up the track. Dangling as she was, she was a lifeless weight in their arms, so they had to refocus immediately on pulling her up to safety. Once they got her on her knees, Ellis set about unwrapping her, which let her drag in long, sucking breaths.

“Y’alright?”

Whatever she was going to say, or not considering it didn’t seem like she was going to catch her breath anytime soon, was interrupted by the warbling voices of infected growing in volume the closer they got.

“Shit, we gotta move,” he announced unnecessarily.

“She can’t run if she can’t breathe!”

“I got her,” Coach said, hefting her onto his back like she was a pink backpack instead of a grown-ass woman. He’d already recollected her gun from where she’d dropped it on the track when she’d been snagged, though she couldn’t do more than hold it loosely when he put it in her grip.

Nick would’ve been more impressed if he wasn’t already leading them to the drop awaiting them. Ellis took up the rear, which was dumb considering the situation they’d just had to face, but there wasn’t much they could do about it now that the infected were scaling the fences and wood to get to them.

They had to take the drop down like a ladder—letting gravity take control would’ve broken ankles, and in the piggy-backers’ cases at least a spine or neck. The whole time, the northerner listened for the Smoker, wondering how fast it could regenerate a tongue—or if it even could. Wondering if it would pop out of nowhere to attack with its hands now that it had no other choice. If so, none of them would be able to breathe considering their little trick of clouding the air with putrid gas every time one of them died.

But, he was never pulled, his teammates made it down safely, and they managed to make it up the next rise before the infected caught up with them.

“We’re almost there!” He called, and then, before they could go through a small tunnel to the end of the ride, he stopped and yanked Ellis forward. “Get point.” More infected were coming from behind, and his SCAR was going to be a lot more useful covering their backs than the other man’s rifle.

He looked like he wanted to protest, but when Nick needed to start opening fire, Ellis sprinted ahead, leading them through the darkness and to the other side. The conman followed, jogging backwards and praying (not that he believed in it) that he wouldn’t trip as he continued keeping the zombies at bay.

“C’mon, Nick!” Ellis was ushering him up a ramp with a sign for a safe house spray painted on it. There were no zombies in front of them, so their youngest member dropped back with him to cover the rear until they could shut and lock the safehouse door.

Coach was settling Rochelle against one of the walls of the saferoom—an indoor area for a line to converge for the Screamin’ Oak. She brushed his hands away when he kneeled to check her over.

“I’m okay,” she assured, still a little breathless. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

The other northerner couldn’t help but look to her. She was breathing normally now and looked more relieved than anything else. Between that tongue trying to break her ribs, suffocate her, and not to mention dangling her over a very deadly height, it really was a wonder. He squatted down in front of her.

“You’re one tough cookie.”

“Nick,” she said, trying to hide her amusement, “I know you’re trying to give me a compliment, but maybe next time try it without comparing me to a dessert.”

He laughed and offered a hand to help her up. She took it.

“Thanks, guys,” she said, unnecessarily.

“You would’a done the same,” Coach replied. “You okay to keep movin’?”

Rochelle nodded and that was that. One instant of panic and terror behind them, that they _had_ to put behind them, and dozens still waiting.

There was some ammunition left in the room, so they did what they always did—took what they needed, what they could carry, and left what they couldn’t. Practicality called for it because Nick sure as hell didn’t believe anybody else would be following their path at this point so there was no reason but the size of their pockets to leave it all behind.

Most of the zombies in the area ahead of them must have been attracted to the fiasco on the roller coaster, because as they passed by and between game tents they only had to dispatch a few with simple headshots from their handguns. One of the tables even had some discarded supplies, including a pipe bomb and a Molotov. Nick pocketed the latter and let Coach take the former since he had the better arm.

After they were stocked up, it looked like they’d be able to get through the bumper car set up, if Ellis hadn’t stopped them before they could.

“Hey,” he called, nodding to the high striker set up. “Betchya I can get higher than ya’ll.”

“If you even touch that thing, I’ll hit _you_,” Nick threatened.

The kid deflated instantly. “Ah, c’mon, I was juss jokin’.”

“Don’t matter,” Coach piped in. “I’d whoop yer ass, boy. Now let’s go.”

Ellis went along with him, reenergized again. “Now, that just ain’t true. You’d be throwin’ outchyer back, Coach.”

“You know, I ain’t as old as y’all think I am.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Nick announced, wholly unsurprised and completely out of breath. They’d just made it into the saferoom of the stadium by the skin of their fucking teeth and a whole lot of luck. There’d been two separate Hunters, a Smoker, a Jockey, and yet another near-miss with a Charger while they’d fought their way through the entrance. If even one of them had fallen, it would’ve been over. “Why does everything have to make so much goddamn noise? And how many zombies could there possibly be in this place?”

“Well, you ain’t gonna like what comes next, then,” Coach told him.

Nick really didn’t want to know, but he shut his mouth and listened anyway.

“Y’all, the Midnight Riders are gonna save us.”

Ellis glanced sidelong at Nick, as they were used to doing. “I hate’ta break it to ya, Coach… but I don’t think they’re actually here.”

The bigger man shook his head. “We are gonna set off their light show, son. One look at that and that chopper’s gonna know something’s up… because nobody, and I mean _nobody_, has a bigger light show than the Riders.”

They were all going to die.

“Coach, you are a brilliant man,” Ellis said, completely serious.

Nick put his face in his palm and sighed. He only dropped it, in incredulity, when Rochelle piped in: “That might work.”

Yep, they were all going to die, but since he didn’t have any other ideas, he just shrugged his shoulders. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s rock.”

“Alright, let’s stock up,” their leader ordered. “This is gonna attract more than just that chopper.”

The card shark headed back to the door they’d entered through. He’d seen a table of first aid kits lying over there and he wanted to see what supplies he could fit in his bag. To his annoyance, Ellis followed.

For a few moments they stood silently side by side, rummaging through the packs and taking what supplies they needed. The kid was a weighty presence, especially because he kept sneaking glances at Nick’s profile, each longer than the last. Eventually, the older man just sighed and turned completely to face him.

“Got a problem?”

“No,” Ellis answered far too quickly. His face twisted in a wince. “I mean, yeah… well, kinda.” He took a deep breath. “…Can I talk t’ya, Nick?”

“That’s a first—you asking for permission to put your foot in your mouth?”

The redneck’s brows furrowed and his skin flustered. He looked back to the kits in front of them, fingers tightening around a roll of athletic tape. Something just beneath Nick’s rib cage felt heavy, and he sighed to try to relieve it.

“Okay, relax. What is it?”

Ellis kept his eyes down for a beat longer and when he raised them, he looked to the graffiti on the wall instead of the man next to him. “Wanted’ta say I’m sorry.”

There were a multitude of things he could’ve retorted, but he decided to wait, watching the way the young face scrunched as if apologizing was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Probably was, considering he was only doing it so they could keep watching each other’s backs without the antagonism that had built up between them getting in the way. That was fine by him.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“No,” Ellis said immediately. “You don’t get it… Before, I didn’t mean it—I mean. I don’t care thatchyer…” here he glanced back at the others and then lowered his voice to a whisper, “thatchyer _bi_. I think it’s cool.”

“How tolerant of you.”

“Nick,” he said, pained and finally meeting his eyes. The taller man could see then that he’d been wrong about his expression. The apology was hard because Ellis meant it. Because now it was obvious that he’d been feeling like shit over it. He’d been acting like a kicked puppy after all, hadn’t he?

Fuck, and Nick had thought he’d deserved it.

“It was a big misunderstandin’,” Ellis continued, looking down again. “I mean, y’were makin’ a joke an’ I was surprised an’ laughin’ an’ then I tripped an’ almost broke my damn face an’ I was embarrassed ‘cause you had’ta catch me an’ then I wasn’t sure what’ta say an’—…”

“Breathe, overalls.”

He did, and even looked up at the nickname, hopeful.

Nick sighed, rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms, all well acted to save face. Well, at least in his mind, because the younger man was starting to smile. “I get it. You’re an idiot. Mouth moves faster than your brain. It’s fine.”

“Yeah? We’re fine? ‘Cause yer my friend, Nick.”

“Okay, don’t get all emotional. Yes. We’re fine.”

Ellis let out a big rush of air, like he’d been holding it ever since that slide. “Aw, man, that’s great. I was really worried y’hated me.”

“I do hate you.”

The redneck laughed and picked up his things. “Uh huh. Let’s get goin’, this is gonna be awesome.”

It was _not _awesome. The stadium had been well-stocked, a sign that some people had tried to hold out there before them. They’d found ammo, Molotovs, pipe bombs, gas cans, and even boxes of unused fireworks. They’d set up the latter two around the amphitheater. They were good for setting the seemingly endless waves of infected on fire. They’d proven hard to hit where they’d thrown them between the benches, though.

They’d decided to hole up on a platform erected in the seating area. It had probably been for cameras or extra lighting, but it served as a nice sniper’s nest. Not to mention it provided them with another layer of extra protection, as minute as it might have been considering they could’ve been pulled off by a Smoker anytime. Still, Ellis was having a hell of a time sniping all the mutated freaks from above while the rest of them mowed down the vast majority of ‘normal’ zombies.

Eventually, as always seemed to happen when they had some great escape planned, a Tank came. It knocked whatever infected that got unlucky enough to get caught in front it out of the way. The only reason they were able to take it down without getting hit was because Coach had managed to throw one of their Molotovs directly onto its face. Combined with their bullets, it went down with a groan and took at least four benches with it.

And that had only been one song.

And the helicopter hadn’t come by the end of it.

Another song started up directly after—_and really, rockers lip syncing? Come on_—and with it more infected. There were less zombies this time, which made Nick wonder how many had been in the damn amusement park and surrounding area ‘cause it had practically taken them all night to clear them all. That at least made it easier to pick off the mutated ones. Made it easier to feel the earth shaking as yet another Tank found them.

They didn’t get a chance to set this one on fire because they’d already lit the gas in the direction from where it had come. Their bullets seemed to just piss it off, too, considering it decided to rip a chunk of goddamn concrete from the floor and whip it at Ellis’ position like it weighed as much as a snowball or something. Their sniper had already jumped down atop them the moment the behemoth had slammed its fingers into the ground. He’d seen Nick narrowly miss being splattered to paste after one such attack, so at least he was smart enough not to test it.

The conman half-caught and steadied him, and all together they jumped from the platforms to run in the opposite direction of the thing. It screamed and chased after them slowly, finding a grip and footfalls hard with the stacked seating. It wasn’t much easier for him or his teammates, though. He tripped at least twice going backwards, though on the second one the Tank had already fallen.

When a third song started, he really wondered how they’d face another Tank with their ammo draining, but somehow the sound of a helicopter’s blades drowned out the obnoxious guitars. It came from their right, dipping low and turning into a hover over the least destroyed part of the seating.

“Holy shit, this worked,” Nick announced, bewildered.

“C’mon!” Ellis was running, handgun aiming for heads as he moved. He reached the chopper first and waved them on, switching to his rifle to cover them.

The helicopter seemed to have brought a few meandering infected with it, including another Tank, _just like Nick called_. But they were all running from behind them and it was easy to divert them with one of the pipe bombs they’d picked up. The Tank on the other hand… that thing was headed right for the helicopter.

Nick made sure Rochelle and Coach got on before him, and Ellis—well, he had to yank the idiot in by his collar. They fell back hard and the northerner had to keep holding onto him for how fast the pilot pulled up to avoid yet another thrown chunk of stadium. The turbulence was bad and the kid clung to him so he wouldn’t go flying out the open door.

Once it evened out, the hick was able to steady himself enough to peer down below. Nick chanced a glance, too. There were still some fireworks going off, but they were moving too quickly from the amusement park to see anything else.

Not that it mattered, so Nick yanked the door shut. _Good riddance._

“Coach!” Rochelle was laughing. She crossed to the large man and enveloped him in a hug. He patted her back gently, adrenaline making him laugh right along with her.

“That’s it?” Ellis asked, sounding as young as his age. “We’re gonna be okay?”

Nick fought down the urge to put an arm around him, instead opting to take the seat across from Coach and let his head drop back against the meager cushions. In the end, the choice was taken from him. Their youngest member dropped down next to him bodily, their shoulders touching. He didn’t need to look to know he was smiling.

“Man, I never doubted us fer a second!”

“Everyone okay back there?” the pilot called from the front.

“Yes!” Rochelle answered for them. “Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver!”

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Ellis added. “We owe you so many drinks!”

“There are still some military outposts standing,” he told them. “I’m going to get you folks to one of them, don’t worry.”

“Appreciate it, brother.”

“It’s gonna take a few hours so get some rest while you can. You people have been through hell.”

A long time ago there was a poet who wrote about traversing hell. He gave it nine layers. _Nine_. In that vein, they probably should’ve realized all that hope they’d felt when first getting on the helicopter was going to be very short lived.

No rest for the weary or the wicked, after all.

Nick had tried. He knew he’d fallen asleep—maybe he’d even managed an hour or more, but he hadn’t managed to do more than that like his teammates. The helicopter wasn’t some fancy thing; the seats were practical, with tight seat belts and minimal cushioning. The seats Rochelle and Coach had taken were like bucket seats, separated from each other by the opening to get into the cockpit. Across from them was essentially a bench. Nick had strapped himself in the furthest seat and rested his head up against one of the walls. He’d sworn Ellis had done the same on the opposite side.

When he woke, though, it was to the sight of Rochelle with her legs drawn up, her head pillowed on her knees, Coach’s head was back and his mouth open in his sleep, and their youngest member’s head was on Nick’s shoulder. Confusion came first and then the urge to shrug him off which he didn’t do because he knew it was unintentional on the other man’s part. He figured it was probably why he’d woken at all—the southerner had fallen against his shoulder and jostled him.

Until he heard the coughing. Coughing that was ugly and steadily morphing into something else. Something wet and gurgling. Then the turbulence started.

“Ellis,” Nick snapped, shaking his shoulder to wake him.

To his credit, the sleeping man roused immediately. “Wha?”

“Something’s wrong.” The conman withdrew his handgun. That was when the pilot started snarling.

“Coach! Ro!” Ellis was reaching for his rifle on the floor.

But, the sounds from the front had already woken the other two up, a bit groggy though they were.

“What’s goin’ on?” their leader asked. He was answered instantly when a gray hand shot around the opening to grab him.

“Holy shit!” Rochelle leant away, eyes round.

The pilot had been fastened into his seat, but apparently it had been a loose hold because his now infected body was able to contort completely to block the opening, hissing and biting at them. His hands were clawing at where Coach had been before he’d thrown himself as best he could against the window beside him.

From the cockpit a myriad of lights began to flash and soon the sound of alarms followed. Nick could see, out of the windshield and the window beside him, that they hadn’t been all that high and they were losing what altitude they had had fast. They were going to crash.

And he didn’t want to get bit before that.

He raised his handgun.

“Nick!”

The bullet tore clean through the zombie’s skull, spattering gore on the windshield behind it. The alarms seemed to blare all the louder.

“Aw, this is gonna get bad,” Coach said. “Hang on!”

Then the helicopter careened to the left and they went down.

He woke when he felt arms slip under his armpits, though his mind didn’t exactly follow until he felt his feet hit and then drag across solid earth. That startled him enough to start struggling.

“Nick, relax! It’s me!” Ellis didn’t drop him, exactly, but he slackened his hold so the northerner could sit up. He dropped to a knee next to him. “You okay?”

He waited a moment to answer. He had a bad headache and his back was sore, but that could be explained by the twisted wreckage behind them. Otherwise it felt like he still had all his extremities and none of his organs were pierced, so he nodded. “Peachy. You?”

“I’m alright.”

“Coach and Ro?”

“Coach is over here,” the reporter responded from somewhere ahead. Nick turned to look and found her next to where he was perched against a tree, unconscious. The better sight was the first aid kits laid out next to him.

“Whirly-bird landed a bit like this,” Ellis explained, holding his hand up rigid and vertical, so that it was aligned with the gambler’s face. Then he curved his fingers a bit to the left. “Landed mostly on the nose… but a bit on yer side.”

“If you call it a whirly-bird one more time,” he threatened, taking the hand in his face to force the kid to help him up.

Ellis did with a grin. “Oh, man, that was some crazy shit! Nick, you are a man of _action_!”

Nick faltered at that. He very quickly had to remind himself that the younger man was straight, because the inflection on the last word sounded like more than just some compliment. “I can’t believe none of you were going to shoot him.” He turned from his confusion to the tree. “He okay?”

“Yes,” she assured. “Trust me, we didn’t crash all that long ago.”

“Yeah, my back can tell.” He surveyed the area around them. “We gotta find some cover.”

It was still dark out and for the moment it seemed like they were alone. Maybe they’d fallen that far away from a hub of former civilization that there were no zombies to investigate what must have been one hell of a loud thud. Whatever the reason, they needed to take advantage of the stillness around them and move. He told them as much.

After getting Coach at least lucid, it was up to Nick and Ellis each with the offer of a shoulder to help him follow Rochelle to the first safe place they found. It happened to be an empty line of train cars, one of which was open to them. Inside, they each fell back against a wall and waited for daybreak.

With the big door shut, they even managed to calm themselves a bit to get some sleep. That’s not to say any of them were rested when they pulled it back open to face the dawn.

“No CEDA, no military… stay out,” Coach read from the sign ahead of them. Beyond it lay a gas station and, from what they could see, a couple of houses.

“They forgot to put ‘no zombies,’” Nick sneered.

“If they put up this sign, maybe somebody made it,” Ellis suggested, hopefully.

Stamping down the urge to correct him, the northerner followed Coach out of the train and into the village. They all still had their handguns, and their youngest member had been able to scavenge his rifle from the crash, but the rest had been lost. It wasn’t an immediate cause for worry—so far these southerners had been amply prepared with weapons for some kind of catastrophe—but the trick right now was finding them. Especially if these people didn’t want any outsiders to bother them. They probably wouldn’t be too keen on sharing their supplies, either. Go figure.

Well, if any of them were alive, anyway. From what they were seeing, and shooting, most of the villagers had abandoned these houses. Apparently, they figured they were too close to the road and moved deeper in the swamp for safety. The zombies milling about attested to that. It was possible they’d been attracted by cars or maybe these were the ones who hadn’t been immune.

All it meant to Nick was that in order to find help their group would have to follow.

Into a swamp. A fucking swamp.

He tried to figure out which layer of hell it was.

“So, Nick,” Rochelle said, drawing him from his thoughts as they waited for the world’s slowest ferry to get them to swamp village, “what do you think the chances are that the swamp people are alive?”

“What? Alive and infected or alive and not zombies?”

“Alive and not zombies.”

“Hundred to one.”

“Sounds about right.” She sighed and leaned against one of the rails, staring outward. “…So, they really needed signs to warn people not to go swimming with the gators, huh?”

“At one point I might’ve been surprised,” Nick said, “but now that I’ve gotten to know Ellis…” He smirked over his shoulder at her and waited for the kid’s sputtering indignance.

The young man didn’t give it, though. Instead he gave the northerner a slow once-over. “Hey, Nick? Didjya know I used’ta have a suit just like yers once?”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. First communion in second grade. Don’t think it fits anymore.”

Coach laughed, loud enough to cover the gambler’s scoff. “Yeah, boy! Look at you, givin’ Nick some shit right back!”

Ellis was grinning at him and so Nick figured he’d let it go. It wasn’t that good of a joke to get all worked up about, anyway. Besides, once the ferry docked it was better to focus on where they were going. Obviously, they stuck to the planks, but the thing about that was there were two directions to choose from between all the mud, water, and looming, gnarled trees.

They were pointed left, so that’s the direction they chose. It took them up on elevated platforms above the swamp. The high ground let Nick and Ellis pick off the zombies that noticed them. They got lucky that their path to the safe house—which was in a drainage pipe of all places—was just as sparse. He still didn’t think any of the swamp people were alive, but they’d at least made it pretty far.

Though that meant that the further they got, the more zombies they’d have to kill. What else was new?

At least the saferoom had some guns—a pump shotgun that Coach took immediately, and two sub machine guns that the northerners claimed.

“Hey,” Ellis said. He was looking out the barred window in the heavy red door. “Be on the lookout for blood farmers.”

There was a beat.

“Boy, what in the _hell _are you talking about?” Rochelle demanded.

“Duh? Farmers that don’t grow crops; they grow people. To _eat_.”

Nick was tempted to throw an empty ammo box at him. “Jesus Christ, Ellis, as if the zombies aren’t bad enough.”

Coach, confused and speechless—but that was to be expected when you lost brain cells every time one of your teammates spoke—just yanked the bar out of their exit and left. They followed, directly into thigh-high, dirty, disgusting, murky water.

“Shit!” He bemoaned. “All this swamp water is gonna ruin my suit.”

Their female member laughed at his elbow. “You mean the one with zombie brains all over it? That one?”

“Brains come out—swamp water doesn’t. Don’t ask me how I know that.”

“Wait, what?” Ellis exclaimed, a bit too loudly. The few zombies up ahead turned at the noise, screeched and plopped down into the water. The redneck had the decency to look guilty. The depth of the water gave them time to ready their weapons and dispatch them relatively easily.

Relatively, however, because at least three of them had dropped down into the water to run through it on all fours like some kind of fucking animal. The worst of it was that when they got close they didn’t pounce like Nick had half expected—no, one of them swung its arm around like a sideways catapult to fling mud directly into Ellis’ face. And then he followed it up with an attack.

The mechanic had the sense not to fire his gun with his vision obscured. He instinctively brought his arms up to protect himself, but Nick didn’t let the muddy thing get close enough to take advantage of the opening. He gunned it and another down with a clip while Rochelle got the third.

“What the hell, man?” Ellis groaned, scraping the mud from his upper face and flicking it away.

“Could’ve been worse,” Coach said. “At least it didn’t get in your mouth.”

“You okay?” The reporter asked, approaching. She grabbed his chin to keep him steady as she checked him over, like she was a nurse or something.

The kid was alright—the throw hadn’t been all that hard so he probably wouldn’t be bruised or anything. He’d just been momentarily blinded. Now that he had wiped the excess away it was very clear he could see again, and he didn’t need some woman grabbing his face to realize that. His eyes were darting between them, stark and very blue against the brown around them. It looked almost like warpaint, accenting the colors and lines of his face—the sharpness of his eyebrows, the red line across the bridge of his nose, and the pink in his too-big lips.

The conman frowned at that. “He’s fine.”

“Agh,” the hick said eloquently. “Let’s hope Nick don’t get hit, we won’t hear the end of it.” He used his forearm to wipe at himself again as they moved on. “Mud people, man… what’s next?”

“Don’t ask, maybe it won’t happen,” Nick offered from the rear.

It did. Almost immediately.

They had to walk up a downed tree to get to a patch of semi-solid land. Ahead of them were more cypress trees, old and haggard, pressed closely together and gloomy in the filter of the early morning light. There was a shadow hanging from one of them and the eerie sound of crying hanging _between_ them.

“Okay, that is _creepy_,” Rochelle whispered.

Nick agreed, though he said nothing aloud. They’d been scared on this journey, but it was a different sort of fear. One for their lives. One full of adrenaline. Now it was as if it were the air itself, settled over their backs and shoulders to send shivers up their necks. Now they breathed it in.

“Stick together,” Coach said, just as quiet. “That crying starts getting louder, we move in a different direction.” He led through the middle, not caring that they had to slip in and out of water to do it.

“…Anybody else havin’ trouble figurin’ out where it’s comin’ from?” Ellis asked.

It seemed like the sobbing was reverberating off the trunks of every tree they passed, making it hard to be sure. It was still dark enough for the witch to be sitting, but here she’d be half-submerged and hidden by the water. They wouldn’t know they were about to walk into her until she started growling. Or one of their stomachs were torn open. Either way.

Cautiously, they made their way to the shadow in one of the trees, different from the other sloping boughs. It only took a few steps for them to realize what it was—a dead man, caught up in the harnesses of a parachute which itself had become entangled in the branches above.

He’d been military and decked out like it. There was a SCAR hanging around his neck, a pistol in a holster at his side, a pipe bomb, an adrenaline shot, and most important of all a small bag of ammo attached to him. While Coach said a prayer, Nick set about relieving him of the supplies.

They all agreed that Nick should get the gun, Ellis the shot, Coach the pipe bomb and ammo pouch, and Rochelle the second handgun. The items made them feel a little better at least as they continued on away from the disconcerting, floating crying.

The terrain cleared in front of them, allowing them the visibility they only distantly realized they’d been missing. Not that the view was all that inspiring. Especially when they came upon a crashed passenger jet. Half its side was torn away with bodies and seats strewn among the muck.

“Guess we know where the parachutist came from,” Ellis murmured.

“Guess walking’s not so bad,” the card shark added.

“Nick, you sure you didn’t kill this pilot, too?” Coach asked.

“I. Shot. A. Zombie.”

Rochelle sighed at their antics. “Guys, I don’t see a way around this thing without something to cut down all that brush. Think there’s a way through the plane?”

“It’s gotta have an emergency door,” their leader replied.

It did, luckily facing the way they wanted to go. Also lucky for them were the two guns on the floor—M16 rifles that Rochelle and Coach gratefully took up. The dead guy hanging from the tree hadn’t been the only soldier on board, and there was probably a good chance the whole thing had been full of them. But if some of them had been infected… especially pilots who didn’t like to tell people? Well, that was trouble for everyone involved.

Ellis took up the direction facing the emergency exit, because he’d ‘always wanted’ta open one’ and it didn’t hurt any of them to humor him. Nick took up the space directly behind him. When he pulled the bar, the door gave a low groan, a drawn-out hiss, and then a shaking pop all to break free. He didn’t look, but he could hear it practically shoot off into the distance and the mechanic’s responsive, delighted laughter.

The alarm came on almost immediately and, just like fucking always, they were fighting another horde to stay alive. It started good and easy. They’d been doing this for days now, watching each other’s backs, learning the sounds and screams of mutated infected, and surviving, but sometimes… Well, sometimes when you gamble you get unlucky.

And that’s how the cards played out this time.

The horde came, but the alarm made it hard to hear even their shrieks. They had to rely on what they could see and that was limited by the wreckage they were holing up in. So, while any one of them could identify a Boomer by its grunting in the open while picking off a zombie here or there, it was harder to do when there was a blaring alarm and a multitude of the fuckers screaming their heads off as they advanced.

As it was, they saw it before they heard it and by then it was too late.

Coach yelled out in disgust and Nick only heard it at all because the big man was so close to him. It was a goddamn miracle, he thought when he turned to look, that none of the bile had doused him, too. The former footballer was coated in it. They’d all been covered in that slime at one point or another, so the northerner knew exactly what his teammate could and couldn’t see. What he couldn’t see was distinction. What he could see were vague shapes, and vague shapes were terrifying.

So, Coach started swinging at them.

Most were zombies, hell, one shove was even the Boomer itself which fell back out of the plane and landed hard enough to burst itself, so that was great. What wasn’t great was that to the struggling man Nick was also a blur. The shove he got was enough to send him hurtling against their youngest member behind him. Once their backs hit, the older man went down and the other went _out_.

That was when the alarm shut off. That made it a lot easier to hear the unholy cacophony of the mess they’d called down upon themselves this time.

There were at least four different screams—fucking mating calls for all Nick knew. What’s important, normally, is identifying them before you were grabbed, pounced, gooed—and all those other verbs that could leave you without a heartbeat. And Nick could definitely discern which was which, he just couldn’t do anything to stop the attacks that followed.

They happened whip-crack, one within seconds of another, unrelenting and cruel, leaving him floundering in his reaction. The first was the screech of a Spitter—that he could have only stopped if he’d seen the almost-neon of her vomit leaking from far off. But, he hadn’t, and the wad landed right at his feet. He pulled himself up with the help of one of the seats just as it spread across the floor, sizzling and popping.

He cursed and jumped to one side, calling it out to his teammates before he realized there were no teammates around him. Rochelle had drifted to the front of the plane, Coach just outside of it, and Ellis… He turned to find him and realized that he’d never made it back into the plane. He’d been shoved out onto the wing and now the acid divided him, out in the open, from his group. From help.

That was when he heard the bellowing of a Tank and loud splashes of water from where giant fists pounded into it and the earth as it thundered near. There were two more that followed immediately after—the growls of a Hunter and the shriek of a Smoker.

He heard Rochelle and Coach yelling. They’d gotten back to one another—he could see them just outside of the plane the way they’d come, trying to lead the Tank somewhere in the open where they’d be able to fight it. They were calling his name.

But then Ellis started screaming.

It was impossible to tell which had grabbed him of the two remaining—he didn’t believe in prayers, but all he could think was _please, god, let it be the Smoker_—let his insides still be on the inside. Let him not get to the mechanic too late.

Because that’s where he was going. He ran right through the spitting acid, adrenaline numbing him to the way the bubbles jumped and burst against his suit pants. He ran right out onto the wing, gun blasting with something solid and beating in his throat because _Ellis was still screaming_.

He wasn’t on the wing. No, only infected came rushing at the conman, teeth and nails bared to try to tear him apart. He mowed them all down. They were nothing but obstacles to him now—not things to strategize about, not things to fear—just things to shred to pieces with his bullets so he could save his friend.

The Smoker had gotten him, used unfair aim and its tongue like a lasso to pull him down off the wing, through mud and water to get him in striking range. If the southerner had solid ground beneath him, he would have been able to put up a struggle. But, he didn’t and his boots hadn’t been able to get any purchase to help him stand, let alone fight. He was half-submerged in the water and he was desperately trying to keep his head above it. It was made worse by the fact that he didn’t only have the Smoker trying to tear him apart, but a few infected as well.

His hands were empty, too; he was trying to tear himself free, to punch his attackers, to get away however he could. His hat had been dislodged in the scuffle and, even from this far, Nick could see the panic on his face.

Fuck, Nick hated Smokers.

He wasn’t going to risk anymore damage to Ellis by running the distance so he dropped to a knee, raised his SCAR, and he blew the fucker’s head off.

Its body fell back with a splash, tongue still wrapped around the yellow torso. Ellis seemed to realize he was getting help, because he used his arms to cover his head instead of flailing around. That made Nick feel a little more confident in picking off the bodies encircling him.

There was still screaming from the plane, still the roar of a Tank in the distance, still growling somewhere, still the running feet of infected—but Nick dropped down and waded as fast as he could towards his downed teammate.

“Nick,” Ellis said, voice scratchy from screaming but full of relief.

The older man reached into his pocket, confused when it was empty. “Ah, shit. Where’s the knife I gave you?”

The mechanic shared his confusion for a moment before, apparently, remembering what words were. He fumbled in his pockets until he found the switchblade. Nick took it and cut him free and then together they unwound him. He had just enough time to collapse the blade and pocket it before another group of zombies dropped down very loudly into the water behind him.

“On your feet, Overalls!” He yanked the shorter man up.

“Dropped my guns,” the southerner wheezed, abashed. He was clutching his friend’s forearm, having difficulty placing his feet.

Nick shoved the SCAR into his arms and drew his pistols. Then he bucked his head in the distance. “We need to move!”

“Wait!” Ellis cried. “My hat!”

But the gambler didn’t. He grabbed that tattooed bicep and pulled. They didn’t have enough ammo to hold their ground against zombies and the Tank that was _still_ roaring on the other side of the airplane. If it decided to follow the sounds of the dozens of infected currently running after them, they were going to be in trouble. Especially with the way the water was bogging them down.

“Wait!” His partner gave a little pull, though his feet kept going. “Coach an’ Ro!”

“Ellis, we gotta move!”

He didn’t have to look to know the bassist didn’t like that. Hell, Nick didn’t like it, but fact of the matter was if they went back, they’d die. If they stopped here and waited, they’d die. If they didn’t run and find some replacement weapons and ammo—well, it was a gruesome little pattern.

Between the two of them, they managed to maximize their headshots to take out a good chunk of the monsters chasing them. By the time they found semi-dry land again, the few that hadn’t fallen took the last few rounds from the SCAR. One even got a knife to the eye socket.

Nick let the body drop and looked around, trying to pace his breathing. “There.” He pointed to a shack not too far from them. Only a few zombies stood in their way.

“I’m out,” Ellis said at his back.

The older man wordlessly handed him one of his handguns. “Ten shots.”

His teammate snorted and they moved forward in tandem, three shots spent between them to clear their way until they could get inside. Somebody had used the decrepit shack recently—there was a pile of mixed ammo on the table next to a Molotov, a bottle of pills, and a machete.

“These’ll fit,” the mechanic murmured, showing Nick as much as he reloaded the assault rifle. He offered it up when he finished.

“Keep it,” Nick’s mouth said without consulting his brain. Not that it mattered, he told himself when those big lips smiled. There was plenty of handgun ammo, so he made it even by taking his second pistol back. He took the machete, too, for good measure. “Got room for the pills?”

“Not if you wanna put ammo in my bag.”

So, Nick took the pills and Molotov, too, and they moved on.

He kept them to the edge of the thickets surrounding them. They walked slow and silent, so close that their arms brushed occasionally. Nick preferred that to constantly looking over his shoulder.

Ahead the ground sloped down and back up, the gully in between filled with filthy water. Littered through it was discarded appliances—a bathtub, a fridge, even a couch. They walked around the furniture, eyes trained forward and to the sides.

“…Nick, we should go back.” His voice was low. Guilt-laden.

“Ellis,” the conman said his name softly, tried to make it as reassuring as he could. “They’re going to be fine.”

“It ain’t right.”

“Listen to me, you think Coach is gonna let anything happen to Rochelle?”

The younger man shook his head. His hair was a mess of curls. Nick had known it was curly—it was easy to see around his ears and at the nape of his neck—but it was thicker than he’d expected. Without the hat he looked his age.

Nick reached out and wrapped his hand around where he’d first seen those curls. “Hey. They’ve got each other’s backs. I need you to have mine, okay?”

There was a small smile at that, a determination that took over in sharp brows. “Okay. Okay, Nick. I gotchyou.”

The conman squeezed his neck gently and then dropped his arm away. “Lead the way.”

Reinvigorated with the encouragement, Ellis did, heading towards the foundations of a shack that apparently hadn’t been finished. With his back in view, Nick took the time to look him over. His coveralls were dark with moisture and streaked with mud from the attack. The marks went up his back, a testament to the way he’d been snared. The back of his arms were a bit muddy, as well, and he could see red fist-sized marks in a few places. At the very least, they weren’t bleeding. He didn’t seem to be walking with any difficulty, either, so he must’ve been able to keep most of the blows away from his ribs by deflecting with his arms. It was a damn good thing that Nick had moved so fast.

Still, he let his eyes analyze the hick’s back, looking for any swelling or blood coming through the light color of his shirt. Speaking of his shirt, did he always wear ones this tight? It was like he could see every muscle of his back, the curve of his spine, and the ridiculous way his waist tapered in so sharply from his shoulders. He was about to comment on it as Ellis took some potshots at zombies in the distance, but he was cut off by a snarling growl from behind.

He’d been hoping that not thinking about that Hunter they left behind meant it wouldn’t follow them.

The weight that crashed into his back sent him hurtling forward with a startled cry. His chest hit the ground hard and it was so slick that he and his attacker slid at least two feet. With the creature’s keen balance, those claws were able to start slashing before the momentum ended.

Nick heard himself snarl above the tearing of fabric. He tried to turn and aim his gun, astonished when a strong hand with razor-like nails curled just above his elbow and slammed him back forward into the ground. The pistol in that hand spun free.

There was a slicing, hot pain against his back, once and twice. Then he was being pulled. The Hunter’s claws had gotten caught in his suit jacket and the nimble creature was struggling to get free. The expensive material was shredding, loud and fast, exposing the thin shirt and skin beneath. Nick tried, desperately, to twist out of it.

Out of his peripheral, he could see Ellis’ legs running at him.

Then there was a solid thud—the sound of the butt of a gun smacking against flesh—a tug on his jacket, and the Hunter’s snarl as its weight left his back. He turned to look over his shoulder and watched as the mechanic unloaded half a clip in the thing’s torso, point blank.

Nick got himself to his knees, hissing when his newly torn skin stretched at the movement.

“Y’alright?” Ellis asked, quietly.

He sounded apologetic, but he had no reason to be. Those attacks felt like forever, sure, but the kid had reacted immediately. Hell, he’d even been smart enough not to fire with Nick flailing as he had been.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He collected his gun from the grass and stood. “Thanks, killer.”

“Yer suit’s a mess, man.”

“Could’ve been my stomach,” Nick said, trying to find a comfortable way of holding himself that didn’t make it feel like his skin was just as ripped as his jacket. He took point this time, heading back down into the water and towards a half-sunken shack with its walls and part of the roof missing. “Do _not _let me get dragged under.” He didn’t want to die of an infected scratch of all things.

“I gotchya,” Ellis promised, “but we gotta clean that up.”

“Safe room first.”

In the shack they found some more ammo and an adrenaline shot. Nick took a moment to reload. When he turned, he found his partner’s eyes coming up from where they’d been on his back.

“That bad, huh?”

“Jacket’s practically hangin’ on by a thread.”

“Dammit,” Nick muttered. He winced as he moved to strip it off. Ellis had the decency to help. He wasn’t lying. When the conman held it up, it was connected by a strip at top of the shoulders… the rest was torn in jagged pieces all the way down. The edges were slightly tinged red. “Good waste of a three thousand dollar suit.”

“Three thousand?” Ellis whistled. “You rich?”

“Something like that,” the older man said and avoided. He folded the fabric and let it drop onto the table. He’d leave it as a sign that he and the kid had been this way. “How’s my shirt?”

“It’s still together.”

“_Fantastic_.” At least he still had one layer between him and the bugs.

Outside of the shack there was an embankment. Atop it was a generator, a light, and as they climbed up it, a truck. It was parked on the side of the dirt road. To their left there was a blockade, but to their right it stretched down into the gloom. There were a few zombies in that direction, but they’d deal with that in a second. First, Nick wanted to look over the truck and the dead body resting up against it. And it was a good thing they paused.

“Hey, Cletus. Look.” He motioned to the Sniper Rifle propped against the dead man.

Ellis did and then he promptly shoved the SCAR back into his teammate’s arms. He looked the gun over and checked it for ammo. “This feels right.” He dropped to a knee and peered through the scope. With a few shots he both proved that the gun hadn’t jammed and cleared their path ahead. “’Nother barricade up there.”

It wasn’t just another barricade. It was _the _barricade the swamp people had put up in front the section of this place they’d decided, for some inane reason, to call home. There was nobody in sight and no answer when Ellis called out. But, to the right there was a safe room, so they went inside and shut the door behind them. Nick slipped the bar into place, though they wouldn’t block it until their teammates had joined them.

That meant it was time to wait.

The safe room had been someone’s house. It had the things they’d come to expect from their refuges: messages to friends and loved ones on the wall, spare ammo, sometimes guns, and usually a first aid kit or two. This house had _three_, so Nick didn’t feel so bad about needing to crack one open for his back.

The house also had a lazy boy, a bedroom—albeit one with a mattress on the floor, but it looked relatively clean for a swamp—as well as a kitchen and a bathtub in one corner. All of this was encompassed within two rooms and Nick, still, could not believe people actually lived like this. There was no toilet, but the kitchen had a sink, so there was a probability it at least had running water.

He was almost desperate enough to use that water to clean some of the mud and gore off himself, but when he looked around he spotted, miraculously, clear jugs of water on the counter that acted as the kitchen. He was going to go grab one, but Ellis beat him to it. Hell, they even found dish soap in one of the cabinets.

After smelling it and making sure the water was clean—and it was, thank _fuck_ it was—they went to the tub with it and the soap.

“Scrub your hands raw before you touch me,” Nick ordered, only half joking.

“Yeah, yeah, I know how prissy you are,” Ellis shot right back, also only half joking.

“Hey, if people had washed their hands more we might not be in this mess.” He pushed his sleeves up and started scrubbing at the grime on his skin, watching with satisfaction as all the various colors turned the suds brown only to wash away when water was poured over it.

There was enough in the jug they had taken to clean their faces, too. What was left would be for Nick’s back. The remaining cannister would be for Coach and Rochelle.

When the mechanic’s hands were as clean as they were going to get, Nick started unbuttoning his shirt. “Where do you want me?”

“Huh?”

He turned to look at those confused, blue eyes. “My back? Or are you gonna let me keep bleeding?”

“Oh!” Ellis laughed at himself, almost nervously. “Uh, how ‘bout on the arm of the chair?”

Nick did as suggested, getting his shirt open and letting it hang off his shoulders. He started to shrug out of it but stopped when it sent that searing pain back through him. It probably felt worse than it looked, but now that the adrenaline was wearing off it felt like that Hunter had been trying to see what his spine looked like. “Little help?”

There was a beat and then Ellis stepped up behind him and peeled the blue fabric from him. The blood made it stick a bit, and he winced at the sting it caused when it was tugged free. He took it when it was held forward, tossing it onto the seat and bowing his head as the other man set to work.

He listened to the zipper of one of the first aid kids, of soft clicking noises as Ellis sought out what he needed from within. He listened to the bassist’s breathing and scuffled steps. He listened to the sound of the water churning as some of it was poured onto gauze.

His healer handed him the kit and what was left in it so that he could wipe away the filth to get to the wound beneath.

“…Well? Did I get lucky, doc?”

Ellis gave a little laugh that sounded nothing like the boisterous ones he usually gave. “Yeah… Yer jacket probably saved ya. They ain’t deep.”

No stitches, then. _Thank fuck._ He really hadn’t wanted Ellis of all people putting a needle through his skin to pull it back together. All the same, he bowed his head again and tried not to grunt as his teammate alternated between wetting more gauze and using it to clean him.

Apparently, his back was a mess (or Ellis was trying to be thorough), because they stayed like that for long, silent moments. It was the silence that felt out of place to him.

“You’re gonna tell me this doesn’t remind you of the time you pieced Keith back together?”

Hot breath huffed against his back when Ellis chuckled. “Nah, usually just called an ambulance after I stopped laughin’.”

Nick shook his head.

“Alright, this is gonna burn.”

“It already burns.” All the same, he gripped the bag in his hands a bit tighter once he smelled the alcohol wipe.

_Burn_ was an understatement. It felt like his skin was trying to peel from his body, or at least get the fuck away from the alcohol seeping into it. He did well in not moving too much, but at some point Ellis’ hand dropped to his shoulder to steady him.

“God dammit,” he said, needlessly. He groaned when a slow swipe passed over what must’ve been the biggest of the slices.

“Just’a bit more,” Ellis said, lowly, as if his voice had come from the bottom of his throat.

Nick bore it in silence, relieved when he watched the filthy gauze and wipes tossed over his head towards a trash bin against the wall.

“Okay, juss gotta wrap you up. D’ya want me’ta do it…?”

“Can’t exactly see my own back, now can I?” He gave him the tape from inside the bag.

Ellis made a small hum which the older man guessed was supposed to be an agreement. It was far too quiet a thing, just as his laughs and words had been. Something wasn’t sitting right, and Nick couldn’t shake the niggling feeling that brought him right back to how he’d felt when Ellis had pulled away from him last night. Now, he believed the apology had been genuine, but it was one thing to accept someone—to shut your mouth and let them be—and it was another to have to be in close proximity to them when they were half naked.

It wasn’t personal; he just had to shut down the voice that told him it was, _especially_ when Ellis started wrapping the tape around him with trembling hands.

He wrapped it up over one of Nick’s shoulders to anchor it and then down around his ribs and chest proper. It was a wonder he could finish at all, or even put the tape on straight to hold it all together with how he was shaking. The northerner wasn’t going to torture the kid if it was so goddamn hard. He put the kit in the chair and scooped up his shirt. He shook it out and gingerly slipped one arm in.

“I’kin help,” Ellis offered.

“I got it,” Nick said, sharper than he’d intended. He got his other arm in its corresponding sleeve and slid the shirt into place on his shoulders and rolled the sleeves up his forearms. He turned to face his partner, but kept his chin tucked down to focus on the buttons. Why look up to see Ellis physically turned away from him, he reasoned, but when he’d gotten the button just under his pectorals fastened, he figured it was safe.

Except Ellis hadn’t turned away. He hadn’t even looked away. He was staring right at Nick’s fingers… or right above them where his shirt lay open and the muscle and hair of his chest were on display.

Nick’s eyebrows shot up and his fingers fumbled to a stop.

His bewildered pause stretched on for long moments until the shorter man seemed to notice. He blinked and looked up, seeing and meeting the question in Nick’s expression. Those curved eyes widened and then immediately scrunched shut, his brows falling low in frustration over them. He turned his face away and then ducked it down to try and hide his embarrassment, but that was a hard thing to do when he no longer had the bill of his hat to guard his face.

Because of that it was very easy to track the deep flush that infused his cheeks. To watch the muscles of his jaw tighten rhythmically before his lips floundered open and shut, unable to form the words he wanted to say. Nick stared at the way they moved, stared at the way teeth bit the bottom one quick and fleeting. Then he swallowed and it seemed to be the loudest thing they’d heard since they’d met in that burning hotel.

His face lifted, his eyes opened, but he refused to make the contact with Nick’s own. “Nick…” His voice was low and tremulous, as his hands had been.

And all the conman thought was: W_ell, fuck. That makes sense._

Ellis had never been disgusted by him. Ellis was _attracted _to him. Now, the tripping, the stuttering, the patience, the smiles, his attempts to impress Nick all made sense. How had he not seen it before?

Because of that girl, he guessed. Because he’s from fucking Georgia, he also guessed. Because of a lot of things, probably.

Didn’t really matter now that they were here, elevated heartbeats almost palpable in the air between them.

Nick wasn’t blind, nor was he one to bullshit: Ellis was fucking attractive.

He’d thought that before he’d lost his hat. Before he looked so flushed and conflicted. He just hadn’t ever considered he’d get to act on it.

But he would. They were in a fucking zombie apocalypse with no clue how it would end. They were running and fighting for their lives, on a constant high with no outlet. He had a reckless, young, _pretty_ guy in front of him who was peeking solid blue up at him in confusion and regret and even pain. He was looking at Nick like he’d screwed up everything.

Nick made a sound, something breathy and not too far from a ‘huh’ as his mouth upticked in a barely-there smirk. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to do since the sharp eyebrows instantly furrowed, but it wasn’t as if he could help it.

His next move was more measured and completely deliberate: a step towards the younger man.

Ellis stepped back, but this time—_this _time it was because of the confusion that had eclipsed every other expression on his face. Nick waited for one breath, let his gaze drop down to those full lips and then dragged it back up to make eye contact. When he took a step this time the mechanic held his ground, and then it was easy to diminish the space between them.

He lifted his hand and grabbed the back of his neck, like he had not too long ago, and the confusion gave way to disbelief. It was almost comical the way he could _see_ that Ellis was trying to remember if he’d hit his head and how hard. That made him smirk all the wider.

Gently, he slipped his fingers forward, thumbing over the other man’s adam’s apple before curling them up against the soft skin under his chin. He put his thumb to the cleft there and lifted. Ellis sucked in a surprised breath hard through his nostrils and then held it. He was trying to decide what to look at: Nick’s eyes or his lips.

With that confirmation, the card shark tilted his head and leant in, _slowly_, holding Ellis’ gaze all the while until he let his eyelids drop. The kisses he pressed to those lips were soft, open and massaging little caresses. His teammate seemed unable to figure out how to respond, but that was fine. It let Nick do what he wanted—it let him linger and feel.

Only when he withdrew did Ellis seem to remember that he needed to breathe to live. He exhaled like it had been physically pulled out him, and then drew in another, much shakier breath. Nick expected his eyes to open, for the moment to become awkward once their eyes met, but they didn’t. Instead, unsure fingers wrapped around his wrist to keep him still.

Then Ellis was tipping his chin forward to initiate the bout of kisses that followed. Nick responded, pressing back against what he was given, but he let the shorter man lead. He smiled into the touches because Ellis kissed like his age: nervous and excited all at once. The pursing motions came faster and faster. The gambler had to slide his hand back along his jaw to take control, to draw out the taste and pressure.

The younger survivor took a second and then caught on, tilting his head and mimicking the open-close movements of the other man’s lips. They breathed into each other, sharing air and heat and sound. Nick didn’t try to hold back his grumbled hums of enjoyment. It occurred to him, sharp and sudden, that his partner may not like that—may not be comfortable hearing another man verbally enjoying him. The thought didn't last long because the thing about Ellis was that he had a knack for surprising everyone. And now it was a _very_ good surprise, because Ellis’ mouth opened around a subdued, sweet gasp and Nick very much liked the sound of it. He also liked taking advantage of it to swipe the tip of his tongue just under that plush upper lip.

The southerner half-chased after the lick, huffing out another disbelieving sound. Nick opened his eyes and leant back an inch just to see his expression. His brows were lifted high, eyes closed but not squinted, mouth still open like he was expecting—_wanting_—more. The conman chuckled and moved back in to give one more sucking kiss to his bottom lip.

He moved back again and watched as an awed, incredulous smile reshaped the hick’s face.

Nick laughed again, quiet and short. Ellis mirrored it and then opened his eyes. They focused on the mouth in front of him first before clearing and seeking upward.

This was when the bottom was supposed to drop. When they kept staring at each other, silent and searching. When Ellis’ fingers slinked down to feel his forearm and his eyes followed the motion. When he subconsciously tucked his cheek further into Nick’s palm. That should have been it. He should have wanted to pull away at the intimacy and not go closer. Not enjoy the way Ellis’ eyes darkened when he realized he was going to get another onslaught. Not want at the way his mouth parted and offered.

He stopped himself just a hairsbreadth away, because he wanted to know something. “This your first time kissing another man?”

Words were still hard for Ellis. He just gave the slightest of nods that Nick felt through the brush of their lips more than he saw with how close they were.

Nick _liked_ that answer. He wanted to know if Ellis did, too. “Good?”

The younger man nodded more decisively this time, slanting his mouth closer. Nick rewarded him with firmer kisses than before, ones that he would feel long after they’d pulled apart. He had to dip his hand back and bury his fingers in the curly hair to hold and angle the slimmer man where he wanted. His other arm he put around that small waist to rest his hand, heavy and guiding, on his lower back. Then he all but yanked the mechanic flush against him.

Ellis made an almost desperate grunt and was quick to twist his fingers at the shoulder of the older man’s shirt for leverage.

And that, inexplicably, turned Nick on.

He licked a line across Ellis’ lips and waited out the way his breathing sped up, waited out the following pause. When he did it again that other mouth opened enough for him to slip inside, lick against his teammate’s tongue and dip back out. It turned their kisses wet and slippery and they worked at making them more so. At one point it became so slick and fluid and open and engrossing that their mouths missed and they ended up clacking their teeth together audibly.

“Ah,” Nick ducked back. Ellis followed him and laughed, puffing air onto the moisture. He even snorted once, and that, surprisingly, got the older man snickering into some of the kisses. He was able to get them back on track, though, to make them deep and warming turned wet and hot again.

Ellis’ hand slipped up, his arm curling around Nick’s shoulders, careful to be above his new wounds. He was trying to keep up with his tongue, was trying to do more than stand there and rock subtly into the bigger man while making these involuntary gasping sounds. It was enough to make Nick want to slide his hand down into those coveralls. To make him want to pull up his shirt. To walk him backwards towards the bed they’d seen upon their entrance.

Reverse order was probably the best for that, and he took a predatory step forward, and thus Ellis a step back, to get them there.

And, of fucking course, that’s when he heard the gunfire.

He parted from the other survivor’s lips with a faint suction sound, craning his head to try to peer out the bars into the gloom. Ellis’ nose pressed against his turned cheek. Gently, his mouth followed.

“I think they’re coming,” Nick told him, wondering how he felt about the stubble.

Ellis turned his head and placed the next kiss at the corner of the conman’s mouth. From there, he finally relinquished his grip on his partner’s forearm so that he could use his fingers to turn his face and put their lips back together.

“There’s the safe house!” Rochelle’s voice rang out clearly.

Nick pressed one, two, three more fierce kisses on the hick and stepped back from him in one abrupt, almost violent movement. They stared at each other, wild and aching until the sound of the door jerking startled them into lucidity.

“It’s locked?”

“Anyone in there?” Coach asked.

It was on the tip of his tongue to make some smartass remark, but as much as he hated their shitty timing, he _was_ relieved to know they were just as fine as he said they’d be. He moved to the door and removed the bar without fanfare so that they could rush inside.

“Ellis!” Rochelle pulled their youngest member into a hug. “We thought something happened to you!”

“Me?” The hick looked to Nick, face scrunching in question.

She drew back to look at his face, her smile faltering. Her eyes were lingering, but from this angle Nick couldn’t tell what she saw. He turned away and slipped the bar back into place.

“…Did something happen?”

“Not’ta me.”

“We got worried when I found this floating in the water,” Coach explained, reaching behind him to pull a muddy hat out of his back pocket.

Ellis’ face lit up. “Coach, you are the greatest man who ever lived!” He stepped over to take it, shaking it out a bit.

“Are you seriously going to put that filthy thing back on your head?” Nick demanded.

The southerner looked at him like he was the one being unreasonable. “A’course my hat’s goin’ back on!”

The gambler grimaced and couldn’t help but look to the hand he’d had twisted in those dirty curls. He made an exaggerated face considering he saw nothing there, but it was worth it to see Ellis’ unimpressed expression in the face of his teasing.

“We were worried about you, too, Nick,” Coach informed him. “Found your jacket in that shack. Figured you were hot and ditched it since it was folded… ‘til we saw the blood.”

“Yeah, got pounced by a Hunter,” Nick replied. He waved off the question his fellow northerner was going to ask. “I’m fine. Ellis saved my ass.”

“Surprising,” Rochelle said through a smile. “He’s usually the Hunter-magnet.” She moved to Nick to look him over. “Your back? Did you—…?”

“Ellis took care of it.” He sidestepped her while giving them both once-overs. “What about you two? There was a Tank and a shitload of infected.” He wanted to apologize for not going to them when they called although he’d made the right choice in choosing Ellis.

“We got lucky,” she said. “We’re fine.”

Which was good, if a little unfair considering he and the mechanic had been decidedly _unlucky_. Well, until the end, at least.

Ellis took over the conversation here, directing them to the supplies and the water. Nick let them restock and clean, listening to their young teammate ask them questions to make sure they were _really_ fine. After a minute or two it registered that he was just in the way, so he stepped against a wall and watched them quietly.

Eventually, he looked to where Nick was sitting on the kitchen counter across the room. The card shark tilted his head at him and watched a timid smile grow. He held out for a few seconds before returning it. Of course, that was ruined when Ellis broke out in one of those grins that completely contorted his face. And although he rolled his eyes and shook his head, Nick humored the younger man by not looking away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellis considered himself a pretty earnest person. Someone who was open—someone everyone said wore his heart on his sleeve. It hadn’t felt like a lie before the apocalypse. Before Nick. But now he couldn’t say he was confused anymore. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t what it was. Couldn’t pretend he wasn’t. And he didn’t need to.
> 
> Fear, shame, whatever had held him back before—none of that mattered anymore. The zombies had made sure of that. They’d torn everything to pieces—including that door he’d been hiding behind. Even if he wanted to shut it, Nick was standing right there, jamming it open with his foot.
> 
> It was a good thing Ellis didn’t want to shut it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties, as usual, to make the chapter flow, but there's nothing too out of place or jarring.

Okay, he’d made out with Nick.

Ellis McKinney had made out with Nick—shit, he didn’t even know his last name. He made out with a man whose last name he didn’t know. He’d made out with a _man_. The man he’d been stumbling around the better part of the last few days. The man who last night had been ready to punch him, never mind kiss him.

He hadn’t known what to expect when the older man had caught him staring. He’d been a right fool about it, too—acting like some teenager and ogling his bare chest like he’d never seen a man’s chest before.

It hadn’t even been just his chest, either. He’d needed to take his shirt off for Ellis to clean his wound and bandage him and seeing how broad and big his shoulders were, seeing how thick his arms were, seeing the way the hair on him complimented his muscles like that had been… well, he didn’t want to say it made him freeze so much as it had made him entirely forget they were supposed to be in an apocalypse. And when the half-naked man had asked where he’d wanted him? Ellis had prayed being quiet and getting it done quickly would not only keep his secret but keep him from acting just as foolish as he’d felt.

But his traitorous hands had shook the entire time he’d been wrapping him up and words had become hard and then his eyes just _forgot_ to look away.

And, well, he thought he’d get hit. At the very least he expected to be berated about being a goddamn hypocrite considering their earlier misunderstanding.

Instead, Nick had kissed him. He’d kissed him and Ellis had tried to keep up, and then tongues had gotten involved, and then he’d been pressed as hard as he could be against the conman, and if they hadn’t gotten interrupted he thought they might’ve been heading for the mattress in the bedroom.

But, they _had_ been interrupted and the redneck was still trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t helping that every time he looked at the gambler he remembered what his lips and stubble and tongue felt like and then he’d smile like he couldn’t help it. It was one of his goofy smiles, too, he could feel the way it bunched his cheeks.

He tried to busy himself by getting rid of the candy bars he’d collected earlier. Once he’d been dragged under the water by that Smoker they’d all been ruined. He tossed the soggy things over to the trash and shared a miserable look with Coach about it.

“Looks like they abandoned this place and went to some plantation house,” Nick said from where he’d turned to read the writings left behind on the walls.

Their leader stepped near him to read for himself. “It didn’t go well for these people…”

“Aw, hell,” Ellis murmured, “they didn’t make it.”

“We should get to the river,” Ro advised. She and Coach had taken the time to clean some of the gore off themselves with the remaining jug of water. Now, they were both reloading their guns and ready to go. “If we’re lucky someone might still be there. Maybe we can even find a boat.”

“And if we’re not?”

“I think you know what happens if we’re not,” she told her fellow northerner.

There weren’t really any other options, so they made their way forward. The shanty town ahead of them was… well, at least those small houses weren’t rotting _as_ badly as the one’s they’d had to get through already. There wasn’t much left inside any of them, but there was a back door in one that they went through to keep going.

Ellis went forward instinctively to walk beside Nick and act as point. It was easier not to look at him if they were side by side and distracted by zombies. Ahead of them was a pile of cattle and people, dead and rotting, surrounded by a wire fence.

“That’s a shit ton of bodies,” the older man commented.

“That’s what they do’ta cattle when they think they got mad cow disease,” Ellis said. He felt bad for the people and was surprised he felt the same amount of remorse for the animals. Nothing had been wrong with them, after all. Didn’t seem fair.

“That’s where they thought it came from early on,” the reporter told them.

“Did it?”

“We won’t know until we get to the military.”

And the military wasn’t in a swamp. Bigger problem was they didn’t know where this swamp was and how far they were from New Orleans. Seemed to Ellis that the problems just kept piling up.

They continued on, by mobile homes and shacks to what must have been proper houses before the infection hit. The ones they walked through now were upraised on platforms to keep them from the water, including a walkway that seemed to link them all. They stayed on that, peeking into each broken house as they went.

Somewhere off in the gloom there was growling and gurgling. Further than that was the sound of a Spitter squealing. They were out of sight and thus out of range—no sense in putting themselves in danger to go put them down, even if they all knew they’d be a thorn in their sides later. But they weren’t attacked while making their way through, though they had to pick off a few mudders and other zombies that came running out of the fog beneath them.

And he’d thought the _clowns_ were freaky.

“Man, mud men take all the fun outta mud. I hate’em.”

“I’m with Ellis,” Nick announced. “I hate these mud people.”

“Not like they can ruin your suit anymore,” Ro said.

The conman sighed, a touch dramatically. “My expensive suit goes to pieces, but hey, at least you guys saved the kid’s hat.”

One of the houses led them back out into the swamp proper which meant they had to walk through the odd mist that had risen. It was another area where the people had abandoned the shacks a long time ago. So long ago that the only visible way to progress was a platform that had been drawn up and locked in place. Coach went to a knee to pull the lever to release it.

“Please don’t make noise,” their female member pleaded.

It made noise.

The one benefit of travelling through a swamp is that not many people used to live there. He wasn’t really sure why anybody had at all, but different strokes and all that. The ones who had been there had all turned or ran and he and his friends had already picked off quite a few during that airplane fight. So, he figured there couldn’t be that many left. Thing that made it difficult was that the infected were coming from all sorts of angles hidden by the shadows of the trees. When he and his team had to reload, they gained ground, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle when they were together.

Even the mutated zombies they’d heard were nothing with them restocked and backed into one another. Ellis sniped the Hunter from far off, Rochelle got the Boomer, and Nick managed to kill the Spitter before she could even hock a loogie at their feet. After that it was quiet—eerie—but quiet. It was only interspersed with occasional shots against loitering zombies as they followed planks laid out over the water towards the next safe house.

Ellis eyed an outhouse in their path. “Anybody gotta go?” He smiled at the look of disgust Nick shot his way.

“Yes, actually,” Rochelle said, “but I’d rather use the corner of the safe room than go in there…and I mean before the zombies.”

“Maybe they’ll be a working bathroom in the plantation house,” their eldest member said. “Gotta go myself.”

“That’s great. Any other information you wanna share about your bowels, Coach?” The gambler’s voice was both annoyed and amused.

Soft sobbing interrupted what might’ve been a pretty funny reply. They were back on land now, though he wouldn’t have called it dry, and ahead was another house on stilts—their safehouse. There were wooden steps and a walkway to get into it in an almost roundabout way. Perched on the stairs, rocking back and forth, was a Witch drenched in mud.

“Another?” the reporter voiced their collective inner thought.

“Wouldn’t you cry if you lived here?” Nick asked.

“I’m ready to cry just visiting,” she assented. “Why do these things always have to be directly in our way?”

They had to keep moving, but they each stared at the weeping girl in consideration.

Coach lifted his shotgun. “I can try to get behind her and _pow_.”

“That sounds like suicide if something doesn’t go right,” the conman said.

“We’kin try’ta run around her… juss gotta haul ass into the safe house an’ shut the door in her face,” Ellis suggested.

“Good chance she’ll catch one of us.”

“Guys, I know you’re busy, but can one of you give me a hand?”

They turned to Rochelle who was standing near one of the support stilts. When Coach went over to her she put her gun on her back and hooked her fingers together and held them like a cradle, low by her thighs. The older man copied her. When she put her hands to his shoulders and her foot in the hold, he all but launched her upwards. She got most of her forearms up on the walkway and was able to pull herself up with some effort.

Rochelle really should’ve been the one in charge of coming up with their plans more often.

“C’mon, Ellis,” Coach said, holding his hands low again for his boot.

“Wait.” Something about this wasn’t sitting with him right. “If you lift me up, how’re we gonna get you an’ Nick up there?”

“You can pull him up.”

The hick thought back on thick muscles and dark hair, unbidden and out of his control. He tried not to let it color his face. Coach was right. He _could_ pull Nick, especially with Rochelle’s help, but how were they going to get their largest member up?

“Ain’t gonna work for you,” he said, apologetically.

“Kid’s right,” Nick said. “He and I can lift you. Then I’ll get him up there.”

“Wha?” Ellis turned to him. “Naw. That’ll leave you’ta get by the Witch.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll haul ass.”

Something hot took over his chest. “No way, man. I’m faster.”

Nick put his hands to his hips. “You can’t lift me alone.”

The mechanic pursed his lips and put his rifle on his back. He stepped close with his arms open, fully intent on wrapping them around the other man to prove him wrong.

Nick smirked and pushed him back with a gentle hand to his chest.

“Nicky’s right,” Coach said.

“No, he ain’t!” He had a suspicion he was only agreeing because Ellis happened to be the youngest.

“Hey.” Ringed-fingers wrapped around his too-hot neck. He turned where they guided. “You still got my back, right?”

Ellis nodded, unhappy.

“Then we’re fine. I’m more worried about straining something lifting Coach than I am running by some skinny bitch.” His touch fell away and he turned to the ex-footballer. He folded his hands together.

“Real funny,” Coach muttered. He put an arm to each man’s shoulder, stepped first into Nick’s hand and then their youngest member’s and caught himself up on the walkway when they lifted him.

“Whew, you really are tons of fun,” Nick commented, dramatically stretching out his lower back. There was a wince of real pain across his features, though.

“Just lift the boy and shut up.”

The conman smirked at Ellis and put his hands together again. He didn’t like it, but the smaller man stepped into the cradle anyway and caught Coach’s hand and the walkway to pull himself up. He stayed in a squat and peered down at their last teammate. “…Maybe you’kin jump?”

He tried, most likely to humor Ellis, but their hands missed one another’s. “Just keep the saferoom door open for me.”

Rochelle went, but the bassist wasn’t about to go and let Nick out of his sight. Coach had the same idea, apparently, because they both waited, and watched, as their friend made his way, slow and quiet, to the stairs. Then, he didn’t wait or tempt fate, he slipped his gun over himself and took the steps, two at a time, his eyes focused down on his footfalls.

The Witch gasped as he passed her, rising on stick-thin legs and growling as her eyes tracked him. He didn’t even look back at her and when he reached them, Ellis and Coach turned tail and ran with him into the saferoom. They slammed the door shut, but she hadn’t pursued.

He supposed he hadn’t needed to be so worried. They knew how Witches worked pretty well by now: wandering and crying during the day and sitting and sobbing at night. If they went too close, or bumped into one, or attacked one, she would retaliate. If they left one alone, she’d let them go. She was only dangerous when they had no choice but to deal with her… or they’d made a seriously dumb mistake.

And he knew that. Didn’t make sense for him to have gotten into such a fit over it.

“They definitely came this way,” Rochelle told them. She was standing before ample amounts of guns, ammo, and health kits strewn about a table in the shack.

“Take everything you can,” Coach ordered. “Don’t think anybody’s gonna be followin’ after.” He started by taking the automatic shotgun resting next to the wall.

Ellis went to the ammo to replenish his rifle. He cast a sidelong glance when Nick stepped up next to him.

“You okay?” the northerner asked, refilling his own weapon and tucking away extra ammo.

“Huh?” He looked up, surprised. “I’m good. Juss wanted’ta make sure everybody made it all right.”

Nick rested his hip against the table and crossed his arms, gray eyes searching for something on the hick’s face.

_Don’t do that_, Ellis thought, harshly, _don’t look at me right now._

But the conman was looking and his two other teammates were too busy to save him. Luckily, Ellis’ mouth had a way of doing that all on its own.

“I ever tell you guys ‘bout the time my buddy Keith got rolled by a gator in the swamp?”

Nick frowned.

“Man, he didn’t antagonize it or nothin’, we were just tryin’ta grab two so we could piss ‘em off an’ get’em into a fight. Well, anyway… the third time Keith went under, I realized somethin’ was wrong, so I—…”

“Ellis, sweetie,” Rochelle called. “Can this wait? I was happy pretending alligators didn’t exist while we were fighting swamp zombies.”

“Okay.”

The mechanic cast another glance at the man beside him, adding a chastised little smile to it. Nick was still watching him in consideration, but he gave the same eyeroll he always gave whenever Ellis tried to tell one of his stories and the look disappeared. So, crisis averted, he guessed.

As they made their way out, through hopefully the last little bit of water and towards a small village, he also tried to wonder at what the conman had been thinking. Truth be told he was a little mystified by how easy it was to fall back into their banter, to joke with each other, to smile and have nothing of what happened bleed into their actions to discolor them.

It was different from the girls he’d dated before. _Even_ the girls he’d just kissed or flirted with before. It was nice, to realize the other shoe wasn’t going to drop. Nick was going to stay Nick, and he wanted Ellis to do the same.

It was real nice.

There were quite a few zombies in the little village. When they shot one, three more would come out of one building or another. There was a shop of sundries to their left as they turned and a few small houses on both sides, though they decided against going inside any of them. Freshly restocked as they were, it was easy for them to take out any attackers with the now-risen sun on their shoulders. It was almost nice, the path they took—a small dirt road with a tractor off to one side—because it was dry and not hidden by an almost omniscient mist.

It led them right to the plantation house which had a huge stretch of yard littered with zombies.

“Well, we found the survivors,” Nick announced.

“I’ve got a feeling there’ll be more inside considering that’s where they were hiding out,” Rochelle said.

She was right. After they’d cleared the front yard they’d had to climb up a scaffolding because the front doors were barred off due to reconstructive work. The room they walked into, for example, had a nicely sized hole in the middle of its wooden floor.

“Don’t think yer gonna find a workin’ toilet,” Ellis told them.

The heads of the zombies crowding below snapped up in unison. Their bloody hands reached out, gnarled and curled and fisted, waving frantically as they jumped to try and reach them. He and Nick took turns taking them out with pistol bullets.

Coach and Ellis dropped down first. They steadied Rochelle when she landed and made way for Nick to follow. Their thuds brought a few more infected which they took out immediately. After stepping over their bodies to get into the hallway, their leader stopped them.

“We should search this place,” he said, “and pray it has _some_ kind of toilet.”

“We’ll take the first floor,” the reporter agreed, “but I’m using the bathroom first.”

The conman scoffed and nudged Ellis with his shoulder to get him to follow up the stairs. Above them light streamed in from a hole in the roof, illuminating the top of the landing and revealing an ammo cache and several sealed rooms. They knocked on the barred doors just on the off chance of any survivors but they received no answer. The chance had been slim anyway. The rooms that were open they had to clear of some zombies, but otherwise they were mostly strewn with guns, ammo and empty food cans.

One of the rooms faced the back yard. There was writing on its wall—a scoreboard of some kind—and a door that opened to a balcony. He and Nick went out to make sure it was clear before going around the corner. Sitting in the middle of the walkway was a mounted heavy machine gun aimed over the yard. Down below there were piles of bodies interspaced between the shrubbery. At the back of it all was a large, white gate.

Ellis whistled. “Guess they were hopin’ta hold out here.”

The bigger man looked the mounted weapon over before they went to make sure there weren’t any more zombies. When they returned to the room they’d initially entered from, he propped his gun against the house. Ellis watched him curiously, and then looked away very quickly once he realized he was unzipping his white dress slacks.

He swallowed hard and turned his back to stand as guard in the doorway and tried very hard to tune out the sound of his teammate pissing over the railing. Even when he heard the zipper drag back up he remained turned away.

“You gotta go?”

He did, so they switched places. He had to untie the arms of his coveralls and pull the front down to do his business. Out of his peripheral he noticed that Nick, while not _actively_ looking, hadn’t turned his back as a courtesy. He couldn’t help but give him a look over his shoulder.

“Bladder shy?”

“Don’t make me piss on yer shoes’ta prove a point, Nick.”

“Little shit,” the older man complimented around a laugh. He took up his gun and turned.

Ellis relieved himself, making sure his coveralls didn’t slip, and hurriedly tucked and tied everything back into place. When he stepped back into the room, Nick shut the door behind them. They’d also shut the entrance door, so it was just them and the quiet in the small space.

The other man crossed to the wall, put his gun against it, and canted his head at the messages beneath the scoreboard. “Look at this guy,” he said, motioning. “Brags about killing eighty. Not hard to do with that gun out there.”

Ellis thumbed the brim of his hat up and held it there. “Must’a been when the infection first hit, too. I mean, I must’a killed at least a thousand by now.”

“What, you alone or us altogether?”

“Me!” The mechanic looked to him. “C’mon, I am a _machine_.”

“You think you’ve killed more than me? A sniper rifle versus my assault rifle?”

“I know it.”

Nick laughed and regarded the wall once more. His eyes fell to the messages besides the tallies. After a moment, he asked: “Why didn’t you say something?”

“About my kills?”

The older man sighed heavily. “About being bi.”

“Oh!” Ellis laughed at himself, awkward and strained. He pulled his hat back down, suddenly mesmerized with the clutter on the floor.

Ringed fingers moved into his view, snapping to redirect his attention. Then they shot up and flicked at his brim, displacing it just enough to get him to raise his chin.

For once, the conman looked patient.

It felt like the room was getting warmer. Like his throat didn’t want him to answer with how it was tightening. He tried to clear it. “…How was I supposed’ta bring it up?”

“_I_ brought it up.”

Well, damn, that was true. But it wasn’t the same. _They_ weren’t the same. Nick was older and mature and northern, and it was okay for him to feel what he felt. Ellis…well, every time Ellis had thought about it, had let himself feel even for just a minute, shame had followed immediately after, bolstered by the memories he had of all his friends, and his grandfather, and near every man he’d ever known making fun of _fags_.

Nick shifted to lean against the wall. “Take off your hat.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I want you to.” His voice had dropped, the way it did when he was getting one of them back on their feet, when he was patching someone up, when it was quiet enough for him to be, too. The way it had back in that house.

Ellis took it off, ruffling his hair so it wouldn’t look so matted down, and looked to him.

Gray eyes analyzed him. “You in the closet?”

The hick gaped at him, mouth moving until he pressed his lips together and gave the slightest of nods.

He’d never really called it that, though, maybe because he’d never allowed himself to think about it too deeply. There were different reasons for that. One of them, the one that was difficult to process, to reconcile, was that he almost felt like he wasn’t what bi people were supposed to be. Because most gay people figured it out when they were young, right? Or at least when they were going through puberty? He’d heard and read all kinds of stories like that. He hadn’t read any like his.

He hadn’t read any about an eighteen-year-old guy and his friends, armed with fake IDs and up to no good, sneaking into a bar where nobody knew their faces. None of the stories described standing there with all these older people around, so different from everyone else he knew. None of them described the sudden heat, out of nowhere—when he hadn’t even been looking—when his eyes had fallen upon a middle-aged guy and stuck.

The man hadn’t been doing anything particular. He’d even had women around him—friends or potential lovers, who knew—but they’d been laughing, his hand had been around a glass of alcohol, and Ellis had enjoyed looking.

It had ended up being a Godsend that there’d been women around. Keith had misjudged his heated gaze for one of them and had teased Ellis that they’d been way out of his league. Really, they _all_ had.

It had been hard to enjoy the rest of that night, with his mind confused and chest ablaze.

But, that’s not how it went, right? You don’t just go to a bar and figure it out one night. That couldn’t be right. So maybe he just hadn’t noticed. Maybe he’d always been this way. He’d tried to remember ever looking at any of his friends—tried looking anew when they went swimming or something, but that feeling from the night in the bar never happened around them.

Well, Dave and Keith were like his brothers, right? No way that was gonna work. So, instead when they’d gone to parties, to get-togethers with people their age, he’d looked at other guys. And he’d felt nothing. Then he figured he’d been mistaken. Maybe he’d been drunker than he’d realized?

So, he had pushed the thoughts and memory away for a while. It wasn’t a hard thing to do considering he still liked flirting with girls. He still liked admiring them and kissing them. It had never been hard to hide because it never looked like he was.

He’d settled on it being a fluke until he couldn’t anymore. Until one day a man, not so dissimilar to the one in the bar—middle-aged, fit, handsome, confident—walked into their shop with car troubles. He’d taken Ellis for an amateur because of how much the hick had fumbled his words. He’d managed to calm himself enough to get the job done, though. Luckily, neither Keith nor Dave had been there to see his behavior or the way he had practically fled at closing time.

In the safety of his room, with headphones on and the door locked, he’d tried to figure it all out. At first, the pornos he loaded on his laptop just made his face hot, made him squirm. A lot made him look away. Young, skinny guys kissing, fit guys kissing… something had been lacking. He’d thought on the two men who he’d… well, who he’d been _attracted_ _to_ and tried to amend his search. But it wasn’t exactly like he could’ve put their exact specifications in.

So, he’d tried searching for middle-aged men. That… that had been different. That search had resulted in different body types, different facial structure, and more… skill? He hadn’t really known how to label it, but the men he’d watched then, the ones he’d gotten excited about, knew what they were doing. They were confident and comfortable in what they were doing. And those things, now that he thought on it, were things he’d come to find in Nick.

Now, the other reason he had never considered himself _in the closet_ was because he’d never really had to. The times he’d been attracted to men in real life had been few and far between in the span of five years. So, he’d acted like any of his friends, any of the guys around him: he’d flirted with girls, went on dates, got a girlfriend or two, and had straight sex. He’d never needed to hide it because, outside of his bedroom in the dead of night, he never had to address it.

Except now; _now_ it was staring him in the face with unwavering gray eyes.

Nick stepped to him, reaching to pinch his fingertips on the fabric of the mechanic’s hat, twisted as it had become between the younger man’s fingers. He drew it forward a bit and Ellis let his arms go with it, enthralled with how close their hands became. Then one of the conman’s lifted, fingers curled in save for the index and middle fingers. Those slipped under his chin and lifted.

“You wanna stay in there?”

Ellis considered himself a pretty earnest person. Someone who was open—someone everyone said wore his heart on his sleeve. It hadn’t felt like a lie before the apocalypse. Before _Nick_. But now he couldn’t say he was confused anymore. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t what it was. Couldn’t pretend _he _wasn’t. And he didn’t need to.

Fear, shame, whatever had held him back before—none of that mattered anymore. The zombies had made sure of that. They’d torn everything to pieces—including that door he’d been hiding behind. Even if he wanted to shut it, Nick was standing right there, jamming it open with his foot.

It was a good thing Ellis didn’t want to shut it.

He felt his lips starting to curve as he shook his head slowly.

Nick smirked. “No?” He pulled on the hat and the bassist let himself be drawn forward.

“Naw,” he whispered, looking at the other man’s lips and stubble.

The fingers under his chin slid back, over his thudding pulse point. The rest unfurled so that the older man’s entire hand could slip into his hair and hold him by it. It wasn’t to keep him in place, that much Ellis realized immediately, because when he made no other move it was clear that he wanted to be sure of his teammate’s decision.

Nick had kind of overwhelmed and dazed him in that house. He’d liked it. He wanted to do it again and so did the man before him, but he was leaving the pace to the younger survivor. Ellis liked that, too. Nick was a lot nicer than their friends gave him credit.

The kiss was as soft as their first had been, though the following didn’t stay that way. The gambler released his hold on the hat immediately so he could wrap his arm around Ellis’ waist and yank him in, putting them just like they’d been when they were interrupted earlier. They were going to get interrupted again, Ellis knew, but he didn’t mind picking up where they left off. Or close to it, anyway, seeing as they didn’t have a bed nor the time.

Nick spun them, dropping both his hands down to grip the smaller man’s hips to do it. He backed him into the wall and followed, crowding close and hard. Ellis tried to keep up with the kisses, insistent and searching as they were. When he felt a slip of tongue, he opened his mouth and tried not to groan when it touched his.

He wasn’t sure where to put his hands, not with the way Nick’s were massaging and searing him through his clothes. But, with an ease and comfort Ellis wish he could exude, his teammate noted his hesitance and traced a path down his side, peeled his fingers open so that the hat dropped to the floor, and settled the matter by drawing his arm up to wrap around his thick neck.

That made things a little easier. He did the same with the other arm, curling them both tight so he could press his chest to the older man’s. It was easy now to feel his muscles through the thin material of his dress shirt, much easier than it would have been had his jacket made it. Ellis pressed closer, _rubbed_, and was so grateful to that Hunter suddenly.

Then, another idea occurred to him. He shifted his right hand back, skimming it from shoulder to collarbone. Gently, he tilted his mouth down and away from Nick’s so he could watch his trembling fingers trace across the exposed skin of his chest. There were three scratches there, but they didn’t look like they were from an attack. He ran his finger over one and found it was scabbed over.

Nick’s nose bumped his, but the mechanic didn’t offer his lips. He was watching himself touch lower to feel how the hair slipped under and over his fingers. He was pressing in to feel the muscle. He wanted to trace it across, caress the girth of his entire pectoral, and marvel over how different it felt from touching a woman, but Nick ducked and took his mouth again.

Ellis made a noise and squeezed his hand which had Nick giving his own deep sound in answer. He withdrew to put his cheek to the side of the shorter man’s head. When he spoke, his breath and voice puffed right into his ear.

“Don’t think we have time for that,” he rumbled.

“I’m twenty-three. I think I’kin do it.”

The bigger man laughed against him, gravel-like and husked. “Not something to brag about, fireball.”

Ellis laughed, too, and leant against him, glad to have someone else hold up his weight for a little bit. He tried not to be too disappointed when Nick stepped back.

“We should head down and find a way outta here.”

The mechanic bent to retrieve his hat and their guns. “Big gate’s gotta lead to the river. You ever drive a boat before?”

“How hard could it be?” The conman took his weapon and gave Ellis a nudge with his shoulder as he made for the door.

Down below Coach and Rochelle had finished with the bathroom. They were standing in front of a cabinet strewn with bile bombs, pipe bombs, and Molotovs. Their leader noticed them first.

“Anythin’?”

“There’s an ammo cache up on the landing and a heavy ass machine gun bolted into the balcony,” Nick reported. “Could be useful if we have company.”

“Dibs,” Rochelle blurted.

“Wha?!” Ellis sputtered. “Y’can’t call somethin’ you ain’t seen!”

“Too bad,” she almost sang, smiling.

“I actually think since me’n Nick found it, one’a us should shoot it… and the one’a us is me.”

“Ro, don’t tease the boy.”

“Oh, I’m not teasing. He got to drive the car; I get to shoot the big gun.”

“That just ain’t fair,” Ellis bemoaned.

“People,” the gambler cut in, “let’s save it for when we have to use it. There’s a big gate out back; kid figures the river’s behind it.”

After taking up a combustible or two each they went out the back door to find out. Along their path lay the bodies they’d seen. They were rotted and had mostly been zombies. They stepped over and around, covering their noses against the smell. At the gate Coach gripped one of the door handles and pulled. The wood groaned and did not open. He looked for a lock, found nothing, and pulled again, producing another groan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nick grumbled.

“It’s locked from the outside?” Ellis asked. “Why would they do that?”

“To keep everything out?” their female teammate suggested. “Maybe one of us can climb over and unlock it?”

“Look here,” Coach interrupted. He nodded to a small, cheap-looking table that had been set up next to the gate. Atop it sat a CB radio. There wasn’t any sound coming through it, but it was glowing yellow so somebody must have put some batteries in it hoping for rescue. He picked up the microphone, depressed the button, and held it to his mouth. “…Can anybody hear me?”

When his thumb lifted loud static crackled through the air before being cut by a loud, Cajun accent. “Well, hello there! It’s been a quiet three days out here on the water since my woman got bit!” The survivors looked between themselves. But that must have meant this guy was just like them—that he’d come in contact with the flu and didn’t zombify. That was already a step up from the pilot.

“Name’s Virgil. How is y’all are?!”

“Is that English?” Nick snarked.

Coach pressed the button again. “We’re alive. Could use some help, though.”

“How many of y’all is ye?”

“Four.”

“Alright, now! Where y’all at?”

Their leader glanced to the white blockade. “We’re holed up in a plantation with a big gate.”

“Okay, now!” There was some static again. “You’s stay right where yer at, I’ll come fer ya!”

Coach was going to ask another question, but the radio cut him off. It gave a high-pitch echo of feedback, enough to cause them to jump back and attempt to cover their ears. By the time it was done, the radio’s scream was being mimicked by the numerous infected just outside of the fences.

“Get to the gun!”

Ellis and Rochelle took off first, guns tucked tight as they sprinted. Their elder teammates followed, backtracking to give cover. They’d just about made it to the steps when the zombies started spilling over the worn wood.

“Throwing a pipe bomb!” Nick cried. The mechanic looked over his shoulder, watching the little silver cylinder bounce and roll into the middle of the yard. The infected swarmed around it, shrieking and snarling and punching at nothing to get the sound to stop. When it blew, body parts and dark, sick blood splattered the surrounding hedges.

Ellis turned then, focused on getting inside and up the stairs to the second floor a beat behind Rochelle. She all but launched herself at the heavy machine gun, lifting it with bared teeth and a fire in her eyes. He checked that it was loaded and ready, and then took the position to her left with his sniper rifle. Nothing was going to sneak up on her while he was there.

“Don’t fire it for too long or it’ll overheat!” he told her.

They started shooting before their friends had made it up the stairs. The big gun couldn’t swivel a complete three hundred and sixty degrees, but with it they could decimate most of their attackers coming down the middle. The sides were a little more complicated. Ellis’ sniper rifle was good for picking off the worst of their threats—the specials. Nick, when he joined, helped mow down the sides with his SCAR. Coach was relegated to shooting back any infected that managed to make it through the house or parkour up the sides of it to blindside them.

The teamwork was working like a charm. When one of them was low, they ducked back into the house quickly to replenish their ammo from the pile. For several long minutes they did that: in and out all while making decorating the yard with zombie splatter. There was no doubt in Ellis’ mind that they’d be able to make it through this, and for once it might even be without any issues.

Of course, if he’d been in Nick’s mind, he probably wouldn’t have been so sure.

Rochelle gave a pained gasp and jumped back. When Ellis looked the machine gun was red and thus hot as all hell. He cursed under his breath, but he couldn’t blame her; it was a mistake anybody could’ve made with a wall of zombies coming at you. She was quick to pull her M16 off her back and start firing to cover the other northerner’s trip inside for more ammo.

The mount would take a bit to cool, but it had helped immensely against the waves of infected coming at them. It was almost like the first ones had attracted more and so on and so on, and their gunfire was just making things worse. It’d be much, _much_ worse without it, though. There couldn’t have been that many more of them, not in a swamp and not when they had already killed so many.

He’d probably tempted fate with that thought, because that was when they started dropping down from the roof.

Now, some of them were doing his group a favor by falling to their crunching deaths. Some of them, though, some of them swung onto the balcony, practically flinging their bodies at him and his friends. That was a bit harder to deal with because they usually tried to not shoot that close to each other if they could possibly help it.

Coach was more than happy knocking zombies off the edge with his shoulder, Rochelle had dropped to a knee to stay out of the way as she fired, and Nick had already cleared himself of danger enough to turn his attention back to the yard. Ellis got rid of the infected around him and made to do the same, but down below there was nothing left to shoot.

Then the house started shaking.

“We need to get off this balcony,” Nick said.

A Tank dropped behind them through the open hole in the roof. It thudded down onto the staircase, which splintered loudly under its weight. That had been their only way down. Well, their only safe way.

The monster pulled itself up to the landing, knocking the railing out of its way in disinterest. When it saw them through the open doorway it roared and pounded towards them, cutting them off from the staircase, their ammo, and each other. Rochelle took a hold of Nick’s arm, since he was in her line of vision, and yanked him to their right. That left Ellis alone on the left. The Tank turned to follow his friends and the hick just couldn’t stand the idea of one of them being punched off the balcony, so he lifted his rifle and shot two rounds into the thing’s back.

It took a moment for the bulbous body to turn and face him. Ellis used it to fall back, cursing when he didn’t find a door he could slip into like his friends could on their side. At least he’d bought them some time.

On his side, though, was a separate backdoor with scaffolding above it. It was technically a story down from him, but the jump wasn’t that far and with the shaking of the balcony just behind him, he made it. Now, he wanted to roll on the landing like some video game character to alleviate his impact, but it turns out that was much harder to do than it looked. He landed, heavy and disoriented, on the wood which shook under his weight.

He heard his friends screaming his name, so he rolled and stuck his legs over the side of the scaffolding to lower himself down. Just as his boots hit and he fell back, the scaffolding collapsed under the Tank’s girth. Ellis stumbled back, tripped once, but managed to get to his feet before the giant shook free of the debris it had created.

“Ellis, move!” Coach yelled. He was alone up on the balcony, a brown flaming bottle in his hand. The young survivor did not need to be told twice. The fire exploded over the Tank’s body just as he caught himself on one of the sitting walls. The monster screamed in fury and pain, trying to find the source of the Molotov.

Coach had disappeared from above, but Nick and Rochelle were bursting through the back door after having doubled back through the house to get to him. The behemoth yelled again, drowning out their voices, and then again as if it hadn’t even needed to take a breath. When Ellis saw Nick pointing, he realized his mistake.

Another Tank had vaulted the fence behind them. It was stampeding for them, ripping up the shrubbery in its path and throwing it aside. The mechanic, trying to get out of his daze, ran to the side. He felt panic starting to well up in his throat when he saw that both Tanks, flaming and normal, were cutting at angles to get to him.

Gunfire started amidst his friends’ screams. Another Molotov was thrown and now there were two flaming Tanks in the yard. The newly alight one, however, turned away, screaming and sputtering as its skin charred. Nick, who stood behind it, dropped to a knee and started firing.

“Pick one and shoot!” he yelled.

Ellis kept backing up, choosing to shoot the one that was still on him. Rochelle joined him. Together it wasn’t much longer until it fell, but still, it had sent the bassist scrambling until his back had hit the fence. Free to look beyond the hulking body, he saw that he couldn’t see Nick or Coach.

There was still gunfire and yelling, of his teammates and of the next horde they were attracting. Rochelle looked at him, worry plain on her tired face, and he realized then that they had no way to get back up to the ammo or the big gun. Ellis hurried by her to catch up to their elder members. They’d disappeared behind the shrubbery, but the bush that had caught fire seemed the most obvious place to find them.

Coach had his hands on his knees, panting. Nick had just finished reloading his gun, his nostrils flaring and hair wild. When he saw Ellis and Rochelle, he crossed over to the young man.

“You okay, champ?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Thanks fer gettin’ one’a’em off me.”

Nick scoffed. “Is it me, or do those things run faster when they’re on fire?”

“They also die faster,” Coach huffed.

“Boys, we have incoming,” Rochelle reported, backing into them and opening fire when bodies started spilling over the fences. They moved together and started clearing them out.

“We’re gonna run outta ammo,” their leader called.

As if in answer Nick’s gun click empty at his back. That sound was followed up by different screams—a Hunter, a Spitter, lots of infected, and another Tank.

“Oh, come _on_,” Nick cried, switching to his handguns.

Somebody must’ve heard him, because suddenly there was an explosion that deafened every other sound. The white gate blew inward, wood and dirt and embers launching everywhere. Coach and Nick both turned in unison, using their size to block their younger teammates from the blast.

Bewildered, but with renewed hope, Ellis pointed. “That’s gotta be Virgil!”

“Hell of a way to open a gate,” Nick said, grabbing the mechanic’s bicep and pulling him forward.

Coach put a hand to Rochelle’s back and urged her as well so that their fastest, and better armed, teammates led. They ran together, guns blazing a path. Ellis heard feet stop behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw their eldest teammate’s fingers were wrapped around a bile bomb. He turned and stopped to throw it into a crowd of zombies which worked instantly to turn them against one another and get most of the pack off their asses.

Didn’t seem to work too well on those specials or Tanks, though. The Hunter sprung out from their left but trying to pounce on Nick didn’t work to well considering what had happened earlier that morning. The survivor just figured out a new use for his gun and bahsed the leaping thing’s face in. When it was downed, he shot three pistol rounds into its skull and continued on as if it hadn’t been one of the coolest things Ellis ever saw.

“Get on the boat!” the Cajun voice from earlier called over some sort of speaker system.

The dock ahead of them was wood and rotted in the middle, which made sense with the state of disrepair in the mansion behind them. The water went up to above his knees, high on Rochelle’s thighs, and they had to bog through it to get to the boat just beyond. Once they jumped onto its deck, Ellis turned back to cover his teammates.

Nick was just getting to the water, Coach two seconds behind. They weren’t watching like he was, so they didn’t see the Tank pause and rip a chunk easily half the size of the ex-footballer himself, from a large, fallen log. He felt all his blood drain from his face.

“Nick!” he found himself screaming, even though their leader was the one in worse danger.

The conman turned back immediately, cursed loud enough for every infected in the area to hear, and _launched _himself at Coach. Rochelle screamed as the log missed them by _inches_.

“Get up!” Nick snarled, rising and giving the big man only one pull before he was taking off. Coach followed, practically on his heels. The moment their feet touched the deck, Virgil was speeding away, leaving zombies and the Tank to struggle and sink as they ventured too deeply into the water.

Coach dropped to his knees and then sat back, chest heaving. The gambler was bent over, hands on his legs, shoulders trembling with adrenaline. Ellis wanted to go to him.

“Holy shit,” he said instead, trying to sound steadier than he felt. “Y’all were almost paste.”

Rochelle had her back to them, a hand over her chest, obviously trying to fight down her own panic.

Gradually, Coach turned over and got himself to his feet. He took a deep breath and stepped to Nick. When the other man stood, he put a hand to his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. Well,” the northerner shrugged his gesture away, “you would’ve done the same for me if you could move that fast.”

The elder survivor smiled. “I’mma let that one slide.”

“Welcome aboard,” Virgil’s disembodied voice told them cheerfully. “C’mon up an’ introduce yerselves!”

The boat was bigger than Ellis had expected. The deck was clear, but it was obvious that it was meant for days-long fishing trips. There were two layers to it—the top is where Virgil had to be sitting and steering. There was a ladder on the side to get up there. Beneath it was a cabin that might have a bed or two, a bathroom, and a kitchenette if the boat was anything like one’s he’d spent nights on before. Under that would be storage—for fishing supplies and any catch.

Ellis led them up the ladder to the top deck, holding the door for his friends to slip in first. The man was waiting for them in a large swivel chair, hands on the boat’s controls. The little room had more space than they expected, and even a cheap couch against the back well.

Coach crossed over immediately, hand outstretched to their savior.

Virgil was a short, older man. Underneath his bucket hat he had white hair, a wise and wrinkled face, and a generous smile. He stood to greet them and took their leader’s hand to shake vigorously. “Bonjour!”

“Can’t tell ya how nice it is to meet you,” Coach told him. “Call me Coach.”

The old man laughed and looked to the others. Ellis stepped up next to offer his hand. “I’m Ellis. Y’saved our asses, man. Thanks.”

“Yer more’n welcome, young’un! Gotta look out fer each other out m’ere.” He turned and took Rochelle’s hand next and actually kissed the back of it.

She laughed and thanked him. “I’m Rochelle.”

“_Enchanté_, Rochelle,” he greeted. He turned to their remaining member.

“Nick,” he said, shaking hands and then promptly stepping back to let his friends retake control of the conversation.

“Now, where y’all headed?”

“N’Orleans,” Coach answered. “Seems to be the last holdout.”

The Cajun made a noise of consideration. “I’kin getchy’all there. Gon’ take some time.” He retook his seat and reached over to unroll a map. He traced a weathered finger along the river. “Gon’ hafta stop somewherr an’ find some gas, though.”

“You leave that to us,” Rochelle said.

“Yeah, we’re experts at gassing things up at this point,” Nick muttered.

“Don’t worry, city slicker. _Lagniappe_’s still got enuf fer some miles yet.” He flashed a placating grin to show he meant no harm. “Now… four of y’all. Got this couch m’ere, a booth at the table downstairs, an’ a bed. Thinkin’ y’all need some rest an’ I’mma leava y’to it ‘til I needjya.” He rubbed his chin. “Got some water’n food, too. I juss ask thatchya don’t eat ev’rythin’.”

“We’ve been managing on candy and other snacks,” Rochelle informed him. “But we could use some water.”

Virgil nodded. “Got some cases down therr, you help yerselves.”

Coach looked to the others, as if sensing the question. “I’ll stay up here with Virgil. Feel better if I know where I am.” He didn’t need to say more, they all knew he was doing them a favor.

Down on deck, the three of them headed for the door to the living area. Rochelle turned to them and smiled.

“What?” Nick asked.

“Dibs on the booth,” she half sang.

“Now hol’up’a minute,” Ellis said. “Y’already dibs’d the gun! Y’can’t go callin’ everythin’!”

“Sweetie, if it’s a booth I doubt you’re going to fit on it anyway,” she explained.

“Yeah, and what if the bed is tiny?” Nick questioned.

“Won’t change the fact that I called the booth.” She crossed her arms and waited for their complainer to do what he did best.

But he surprised them both: “Whatever. I’m too tired to argue.” He went inside ahead of them, leaving Ellis to shake his head at Ro’s triumphant smile before following.

The conman took a sweeping look over everything—the kitchenette with its table and booth, a sliding door to a small bathroom, and another that must’ve lead to what could only be a tiny sleeping space. He veered into the bathroom first, coming out with a clean face and hands. Then he snatched up a water bottle and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the door only slightly ajar for Ellis.

The younger man took a bit longer, surveying the area with Rochelle. Virgil had stocked the kitchen up with food, water, and even a bag full of ammunition. He and his wife must’ve taken to the river when first word of the epidemic hit. Then he’d lost her. Ellis looked around and noted that she must have liked fishing, too, because there were just too many womanly touches for her to not have had a hand in the room’s design.

When Rochelle finished with her turn in the bathroom, he went in and scrubbed his skin red. There was a bruise high on his left cheek, a bigger one over the bridge of his nose, and scraped skin on his forehead, but otherwise he was okay. With his hands clean, he let water pool between his palms so he could stick his face in to feel the cold against his skin. When he came back out, face dry, hat in his hands, Rochelle was already lying back on the booth.

Ellis let her be and crossed to the bedroom’s sliding door. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t looking before lifting his hand to get rid of his hat hair again. When he slipped inside he felt a bit foolish. The bed took up most of the room and wasn’t anything special, but it was big enough for two people to sleep pressed together. Nick had already shucked off his shoes and climbed in with his back turned to the door.

The mechanic slid the door closed behind him and kicked off his boots, as well. His socks were pretty nasty, too, so he toed them off and then stood there, considering his coveralls, too. He only had boxers on underneath them, but that seemed better than getting the bedding wet. Nick seemed to have had the same idea, anyway… and besides, he was already asleep so it wouldn’t be weird.

Unless he wasn’t asleep. Ellis kicked the coveralls aside and sat on the bed. When it dipped the older man didn’t move. When he laid down, he didn’t move. It was only when he shifted to make sure none of his body parts were hanging over the edge, thus bringing their backs into contact, that he did.

“Sorry,” Ellis said, remembering once he heard the hiss.

“It’s fine.” But the northerner shuffled and then turned over, lying so that every breath he took warmed the back of Ellis’ neck.

He would’ve really liked that, if it, for some reason, didn’t make him so sleepy.

“Don’t know why you’re laughing,” Nick’s voice was muffled and vibrating against his forehead.

Ellis was confused. He didn’t remember laughing.

“Please, tell me he drools.”

He realized then that his eyes were closed, he was warm, and that was Rochelle’s mirth. When he tried opening his eyes, he found that he couldn’t see all that well and that was because his face was buried in Nick’s chest. He’d rolled over and practically _snuggled_ up to the other man.

Slowly, he shifted onto his back and squinted at the woman standing over them. He hoped his face didn’t look as hot as it felt.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” she smiled. “We’ve gotta go get that gas for the boat.”

Ellis blinked at her groggily and tried to decipher the words. When Nick climbed over him to retrieve his pants, that’s when he remembered where they were. He jumped up and yanked his coveralls back into place. “We should grab that gun bag.”

Rochelle made a sound of agreement from where she’d turned her back politely. When Ellis stepped by her she followed him out to collect their weapons. Nick joined them on deck, each of them armed and ready as a dock came into view. Virgil pulled up beside it and the four of them promptly jumped across quick enough for him to continue on.

“Signal at me when y’got the gas!”

Nick watched him pull away. “What’re we supposed to signal him with?”

“Oh, there’s flares in the gun bag,” Ellis told him.

“What gun bag?”

The mechanic turned to him. He had _just_ mentioned it! “You didn’t grab the guns?!”

“Who died and made me gun monitor?!”

“Pretty much everybody.”

They had their own weapons, still, but having Virgil’s ammo would’ve made their chore a bit easier.

“Gas station’s just across the way,” Coach told them. “We could’a already been there an’ back by now.”

“Wanna hear a prediction?” Nick asked, pulling out his pistols.

“No,” answered his teammates.

His prediction of no gas turned out to be right. There’d been a sign reading about gas at a station further inland, so they had no choice but to head that way. They’d found some ammo in the Burger Tank, so at least they’d replenished the ammo for their stronger weapons. At first, their walk was easy. They were in a small town with a clean street and good visibility. It let them pick off infected left and right before they could get to them. Hell, it even let them level a Charger before it could reach them.

They moved from one block to the next, and when they saw a safehouse in the distance, Ellis wanted to laugh at how smoothly it was all going. Even the raindrops that started falling on his shoulders did nothing to sour his mood.

The safehouse had more ammo, lots of combustibles, and even more messages on its walls. According to the scribbles there was a sugar mill nearby that people had chosen to hold out in. The mechanic was going to assume it didn’t end well for any of them, but he was going to keep his eyes open for any living people anyway.

Unfortunately, the sugar mill was where things started to get hard. Hanging outside was a white sheet with black letters written boldly in warning: STAY AWAY! WITCHES!!

“_Witches_? Plural?” Rochelle looked to them, apprehensive.

They all shared it, but with barbed wire fences cutting off the road, they had no choice but to venture within the decaying building. At first there were just zombies, some in construction garb, most not. Then there was a Smoker that they took out relatively easily. It wasn’t until they got further in that they heard the crying.

The sun was still out, despite the rain clouds moving through the area, so she was walking, her face in her clawed hands. They stuck to the walls and let her wander away from them as they navigated fallen pipes and brick piles. Off to the side was a trailer with a light on inside. When they looked in, they spotted an auto shotgun leaning against the wall. Coach had one, but they took it just in case, opting to sling it over Ellis’ back since he hadn’t been ripped up by a Hunter, was young, and didn’t mind having two big weapons to carry.

They rounded another pile of fallen bricks and continued on to an open yard. Here there were two sheds and three Witches. Two of them wandered around the little area, sometimes walking into the fence that separated it from the rest of the world, sometimes walking into a wall. The third wandered up and down a metal ramp leading right where they needed to go. They tried to wait her out, since they’d seen other witches walk right out of their way before, but this one just retraced her steps back and forth.

When a Spitter tried to blindside them, they knew they couldn’t stand around waiting any longer.

“Ideas?” Coach asked in a whisper.

“What if startling one of them alerts the other two?” Rochelle demanded. “This could get us killed.”

“So, how’s that different from our adventure so far?” the conman wondered, annoyance thick in his voice.

“Maybe I’kin snipe her,” Ellis offered. He was thinking back on the Witch in the wedding dress, but even then they’d needed all their firepower combined to down her so he wasn’t too surprised or disappointed when his idea was shot down.

“Gotta get her outta the way somehow,” Coach said when he didn’t get another suggestion.

“Shotgun to the back of the skull could do it,” Nick murmured, watching the white figure.

“You volunteering?” The female survivor looked to him.

He looked back to her with his brows drawn. When he looked between Coach and Ellis’ faces he saw something in them that made him sigh heavily. He snatched the shotgun from the former’s hands and put his SCAR in its place. “You guys better cover me.”

“Nick!” Ellis hissed, taking a step after him.

The conman moved to the end of the ramp when the witch turned back up it. After taking a deep breath, he walked its length in a brisk stride. When he neared, the infected started to growl over her shoulder. Before she could do anything else Nick lifted the shotgun’s barrel to the back of her skull and blew it to pieces. Her body thudded wetly to the grating.

Nick turned back to them, breath fast and deep. “That… felt surprisingly good.”

_Looked surprisingly good_, Ellis thought instantly.

“That was surprisingly _easy_,” Rochelle said, bewildered.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” the other northerner snarked.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She gave him a look. “If it’s that easy, we should kill every Witch we see. They’re more of a problem when it’s dark.”

Ellis wondered why that was. The one in Rayford had been a real nightmare to deal with, and they’d done everything in their power not to bother the one in the swamp. Whatever the reason for their increased durability in the dark the reporter was right in wanting to get rid of them now, seeing as the sky was beginning to dim from more than just the clouds.

Together, they walked up the ramp and dropped down into a new part of the mill. Ellis and Rochelle took out the few infected that ran at them because their leader was reaching to reclaim his shotgun.

“You sure? Remember what I said about being fast?” Nick smirked. “Or being able to move _at all_?”

“Don’t test me, Nick,” Coach said, but he was smiling. “Think you put your neck out enough for one day.”

Ellis agreed but hid it behind his own smile. It pulled all the wider when he saw the flash of embarrassment take over the gambler’s features. When he scoffed the look disappeared. They traded weapons.

“Seems fair. You owe me, what? Five, now?”

“Hope you’re better bullshittin’ at cards.”

There were a few more Witches, crying and tucked away between the broken and corroding machinery. Coach took a turn taking one out, but before he could celebrate a Jockey jumped down on his shoulders. That proved much scarier considering the little thing tried to pull him directly towards where two Witches stood between them and their destination. They managed to get the little gremlin off in time, but it was a near thing.

Another reason to kill the ones in their way.

“Shit, water’s pooling,” Nick announced once the area was clear.

“And this storm’s gonna get worse before long. We gotta move.” Coach led them through the dismantled stone building, picking off infected as they went. The ones here seemed to be less rotted than the ones outside, so Ellis assumed they’d been the people who had held out longer. He hoped putting them down gave their souls some kind of rest.

They made their way up, covering each other and trying to figure out where to go next. It was easier to see when at the top level. There may have been a window or something in the back wall once, when the building was still in use. Now it was wide open and through it they could see, lit up in the distance, a sign for Ducatel Gas.

There was an elevator, also lit with power, that would get them down. Once down, though, they were going to have some issues. The field below was filled with sugar cane, which wasn’t a surprise or the problem. No, the problem was that he could hear at least three Witches crying between the stalks.

“Bitches really love sugar, huh?” Coach asked.

The lift made enough noise to attract a horde. The zombies had to funnel up the steps to them, so they weren’t difficult to handle. Only the few mutated ones proved to be a bigger issue—though it was pretty funny to watch a Charger launch himself right through the opening to crunch in the cane field below.

Once they were down and facing the field, they looked to each other.

“Try to stay together and head for the sign,” Rochelle said.

So that’s what they did. At one point, their smallest member even twisted her hand in the back of his shirt so she wouldn’t lose him. Coach was leading them, Nick covering their rear, and all around the sobbing seemed amplified. The stalks were so thick that there was no telling where the Witches were wandering. They were so thick that when they did bump into a body—a normal zombie—Ellis thought he was going to have a heart attack. It wasn’t so simple to headshot when you couldn’t see so once again, the skinny things were back to being the deadliest infected they could’ve had to deal with in their situation.

The moment the field ended and their feet fell upon asphalt, they ran into the gas station, shutting the door behind them firmly. Not a second later, the rain seemed to fall all at once upon the roof.

“That place is going to flood, isn’t it?” the Ohioan asked.

“Sure is,” Coach confirmed. “Places like this on the river get real bad, too. That’s why there were so many stilt houses.”

“We’re never gonna get dry, are we?” Nick leant against one of the walls.

“Between swamps, the rain, an’ Boomers?” Ellis asked. “Naw, don’t think so.”

They decided to give themselves a few minutes. The room was well supplied, with messages warning not to take everything—especially the gas. The four survivors knew they got lucky other people had heeded the words, but they also knew they were going to be the last people through here for a long time.

The diesel cans they put upon their backs were big, green, and heavy as all hell. They made sure to give Rochelle the lightest, considering how slender she was, but Ellis still felt bad that he couldn’t carry two so she wouldn’t have to be weighed down. Seemed to him the water was going to do that enough already. She wasn’t complaining, though, so he wasn’t going to bring any attention to it.

Nick did curse out a complaint once he put his on his back, but there was no other way to attach it that wouldn’t have been awkward or messed with his balance.

Now, they hadn’t been in the saferoom for all that long, or so he thought, but when they went outside the entire world was dark. The rain was falling, thick and heavy and loud on the brim of his hat. He felt bad that his friends didn’t have something to keep the water out of their eyes, because they’d barely stepped into the road when the first squall enveloped them.

The storm must have pissed the infected off because between clashes of thunder Ellis could make out screams and the pounding of feet. It was hard to tell what they were looking for—maybe a way to quiet the weather itself, but they found him and his friends, backed into each other, blinded, and only able to fire when they were set upon.

Once their vision cleared, they booked it through the cane field. The Witches were sobbing still, but they knew they’d become stationary and it was more dangerous to get caught by another blast of wind and rain that might force a zombie right into their lap. They didn’t want to guess what the fallout of that would be.

After the elevator it was all about retracing their steps. Or well, it might have been had everything not been under a foot of water. Coach hadn’t been kidding, this place was bad for flooding, but he almost couldn’t believe how fast it had happened. When they got back to the mill proper, the two Witches they’d left alone were sitting in the water. There were two tankers they used to navigate the area, though, climbing up over them and then metal grated walkways to get back into the mill.

From there they tried to stay out of the water, grateful that all of the Witches they hadn’t been able to down didn’t have the same qualm.

It was really only a matter of taking out the Smoker whose scream threatened them, which Ellis did, and then a Spitter before she could block their way, and they were out of the mill. In the safehouse that separated them from the neighborhood, even Nick couldn’t hide his pride.

“That is how you do it,” he congratulated.

“Man, we’re almost too good at this,” Ellis agreed.

The older man shot him a grin and turned to the ammo pile after their teammates had finished it. Coach and Rochelle moved to look over the rest of the supplies in the room, the former gulping down a few pills while he was at it. Ellis reloaded his rifle with the rounds in his pockets and looked up to get more.

Nick’s shirt made him pause, wet and soaked as it was, clinging to every curve of his muscles. Before, he might’ve been a little more embarrassed when the conman turned and caught him, but before he hadn’t known what his mouth felt or tasted like. And sure, he’d already seen how _beefy_ the other man was, but… The thought trailed off when one of Nick’s eyebrows raised. Ellis felt his face heat when he smirked, but he lifted his eyebrow in return and held the gaze until he saw Coach turning towards them out of the corner of his eye.

It took them more than twice as long to trek back through the neighborhood. They’d had an extra bile bomb and Molotov which they used to clear out any zombies, so it wasn’t the infected that made it so difficult. In order to avoid most of the water they’d chosen to climb a ladder atop the houses and cross that way. Unfortunately, some of the roofs were slippery and they’d been threatened by a Smoker, Hunter, _and_ a Charger before their path ended and they had to get back down into the water.

Another squall caught them by a garage sale they’d passed on their way in, so they’d crowded close to the tables and took different directions to protect themselves from the raging infected. After that it was like a slow marathon to get to the saferoom right in front of them with their feet and shins mostly buried in water and the heavy tanks on their backs. When they closed the door behind them, Ellis thought he’d topple over for how jello-like his legs had become.

Rochelle made it to the couch and sat down on it heavily, so he knew he wasn’t the only one.

“What’re we gonna signal him with?” Nick asked.

Ellis leant against the kitchen counter and thought on their supplies. Then it hit him. “What if we turn on the Burger Tank sign?”

“That’ll work,” Coach confirmed.

Nick laughed. “Ellis, you know who you remind me of?”

“Do I even wanna know?” he asked, bracing himself for the worst.

“You ever see Wizard of Oz? You are literally the Scarecrow.”

The hick didn’t know if that was meant to be an insult. He’d always been Ellis’ favorite after Toto. “Y’sayin’ I don’t hav’a brain?”

“I think he’s saying you keep surprising us by coming up with good plans,” Rochelle said.

Ellis laughed and thumbed his hat. “That make you the Tin Man, Nick?”

“Funny.”

“Does this make me Dorothy just because I’m a woman?” the reporter asked, amused.

“No, because yer the heart’a the group,” Ellis reassured.

“Nice save,” she complimented around a laugh.

Coach chuckled from where he was watching them. There was a fond look on his face that dissolved once he turned to the door. “Everybody ready?”

The thing about turning on the sign was the issue they had with everything they needed to do to save themselves: it attracted a shitload of zombies. And these zombies were right pissed off because of the storm, so they were less predictable with their movements than they were used to. They’d had to use two bile bombs to keep the flow outside of the restaurant where they’d decided to make their stand. It wasn’t because it was any dryer in there—the giant hole in the roof made sure of that—but it was to funnel the decaying bodies through the broken windows and doorways.

The worst part, beyond their exhaustion having to fight with the gas on their backs, was that after they’d finally managed to clear the bulk of the zombies a squall started up. The wind and rain filled their ears and blinded their eyes and so none of them knew there was a Tank until it dropped through the hole in the roof.

They all fell back in opposite directions, opening fire simultaneously and confusing the monster. It must have been just as blinded and disoriented from the rain, because it wasn’t sure which survivor to follow. In the end, it was Ellis’ yellow shirt that proved easiest for it to see. It was damn hard backpedaling through the water, knocking over tables, only to find himself pressed up against the wall and firing in abandon as the giant closed in on him.

A bottle broke and he could see the shards fly up from the Tank’s shoulders. Then the smell of Boomer bile filled the air; their last bomb, by his count. It turned towards the source of the throw—to Rochelle—and spun the rest of its body to attack her instead. Before it could get to her, though, the zombies summoned by the storm and now antagonized by the scent, attacked it.

It was a little funny, but then it got scary when the mass of bodies blocked him from the sight of his friends. The Tank was roaring and throwing its arms around, knocking bodies and tables and anything else that got in its way aside. When a corpse thumped against the wall next to him, Ellis knew he needed to get out.

He damn near lost his balance when he tried to launch himself through one of the open windows because he forgot about the gas weighing down his back. He corrected himself just in time and took off around the side of the restaurant, boots sliding as he slipped between a car and the building to get back to their original landing spot. His arrival was just in time for the booming horn of Virgil’s boat.

“Good idea usin’ the sign, y’all! Get on board!”

Ellis looked to the back doorway. He could hear the Tank and zombies inside fighting and there were a few blocking the exit. He was about to charge back inside to find his friends when three of the infected flew backwards and landed dead in the water. Coach, axe in hand, looked murderous as he stepped over them.

“Get to the boat!” He waited until Rochelle and Nick had run out ahead of him to follow. Ellis, relieved, fell aside them and together they jumped to safety.

Virgil had moved down river a bit before dropping anchor again and cutting the engine. He popped into the living area to make sure they were all in one piece before he moved to refuel. Coach followed to help but put a hand to stop Ellis when he tried to be polite.

Rochelle sat on her booth with a groan, rolling her shoulders and neck to alleviate the discomfort. Ellis’ shoulders were killing him, too, so he could only imagine how she felt. When he looked to Nick, he found the older man chugging a water, obviously feeling better now that he didn’t have something rubbing his raw back with every step.

“Nick,” the reporter said, fatigue thick in her voice. “With all the rain you’ll need new bandages.”

He looked to her. “Ro, you’re about to pass out.” He motioned to Ellis. “He did it once, he can help out again. Go to sleep.”

She looked to the younger survivor for his input.

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he assured her.

“Okay,” she said readily. “Is there an extra blanket in there? I don’t want to sleep in wet clothes.”

They ended up finding two—one from the bed and one from a small linen closet. They gave the thicker one to their female teammate and offered the other to Coach, who took it gratefully. There was still a sheet on the bed and Ellis figured with two men sleeping in it they’d be warm enough. After everyone had used the bathroom, and Coach and Ro went to get more sleep, the mechanic followed Nick back into the bedroom and slid the door shut quietly behind them.

The conman shucked his shoes off first, kicking them into the corner before toeing off his socks. Ellis did the same, glad to be free of the squishing every time he took a step. When he looked up, Nick had turned to him. His hands were hovering over the buttons of his shirt.

That eyebrow from before raised again. “Gonna help?” His voice was low, not quite a whisper, but as quiet as it needed to be considering how close they all were on this boat. “You were looking earlier.”

“Was wonderin’ how bad yer back was hurtin’ with the gas on it,” Ellis half-lied.

Nick saw it for what it was if the smirk that took over his face was anything to go by. He drew up to his full height and undid the buttons himself, gray eyes never leaving the younger man’s face. Not that he was looking back since he was watching those fingers too closely, but he could feel the weight on his skin.

When the shirt was open and Ellis could see skin and bandages underneath, he stepped forward to help get the damp fabric off his shoulders and arms and tossed it back behind him to hook onto the door handle.

Nick decided his hat was the next thing to go, though that the northerner just tossed aside to land on the floor. Meanwhile, Ellis looked over his bandages. They were soaked through and probably weren’t helping much at this point. He took hold of his teammate’s biceps and turned him so he could see what damage the can had done to his back.

He was soaked back here, too, but not all of it was by rainwater. There were splotches of red, nothing too deep to make him worried, but it really must’ve sucked to have plastic gritting against his wound their entire trek. Weird that he hadn’t complained about it the entire time considering how much he loved complaining.

Underneath the cuts looked a little red and irritated from the friction, but no worse than that. Still, Ellis took his time wiping them down, disinfecting, and then wrapping Nick back up. This time, at least, he didn’t tremble quite so badly as before. He was going to blame the rest of it on his own wet clothes if asked, though.

“Bad?”

“Looks okay,” he informed him.

The northerner turned back to face him slowly and Ellis let his eyes fall again. In addition to a portion of his upper torso, he’d had to wind the wrap around one of the shoulders in front of him to cover the placement of the scratches. Otherwise, everything was on display, better than the wet, tight fit of his shirt had shown before. The hair he could see was wet and curled because of it, becoming sparse towards his stomach and then dark below his navel. Potentially thicker, too, but with his pants belted up, Ellis wasn’t too sure.

And that’s when he realized he was pretty much ogling his crotch and Nick was watching him do it. He jerked his chin up, feeling the burn high on his cheeks.

Nick hadn’t been watching him, though. Well, he _was_, but it was much the same way Ellis had been looking at him, so he guessed he wasn’t making that much of a fool of himself. Or they both were. Didn’t really matter to him with the way those eyes were appraising him.

Something in them focused. When Nick spoke, his voice seemed to have dropped an octave. “What?”

And, well, Ellis had been about to ask the same damn thing. He felt a goofy smile split his face slowly. “I dunno,” he admitted, unsure why it sounded so breathless. He swallowed hard to try to cover it up and made a vague motion with his hands. “Yer juss… _big_.”

He liked seeing the older man smile—and not just one of his smirks, but ones that relaxed his face. Even better were all the little laughs he was getting out of the northerner.

Nick stepped forward and reached out, putting his fingers under the mechanic’s elbow to draw his arm forward. “You can touch me, Ellis.”

He knew that; he did. He’d been feeling up on him in that plantation house, after all. He didn’t know why he was moving like he’d fallen in a vat of molasses. Maybe part of it was that he didn’t want to ruin how quiet the moment was. Maybe he didn’t want to displace the warm, weighty anticipation that had built between them. Or maybe it was the bed next to them. Maybe he was trying to avoid jumping onto the bed and stripping down like he wanted to.

Nick moved slow and sensual. It wasn’t like any of the girls Ellis had been with before. It made him feel hot. It made him feel immobilized, like he could do nothing but gape and follow the lead set before him.

So, that’s what he did. He stepped forward and let his hands fall to Nick’s forearms, sliding up along the outside of his elbows to hook his thumbs in and wrap his palms around his biceps. When he squeezed the older man made a noise through his nose, but Ellis was finding it hard to look him in the face, so he just squeezed one more time and moved to his shoulders. It was in his head to ask what his workout routine was, but then he realized that would probably kill the mood, so he didn’t.

He skimmed his fingers over his traps, just barely digging in before going down to follow the lines of his clavicle. By the time his hands had fallen over his pectorals, Nick had moved so there was barely any space left between them. Ellis managed to lift his face now, wishing the bandages weren’t in the way of one of his hands, not with the expression he found on the other man’s face.

Ellis felt his eyes drooping and his toes lifting, wanting to diminish the gap between them finally. The conman wanted the same thing, because he gripped his teammate by his chin, dipped his head low, and put their mouths back together. It was just as he said Nick was, slow and sensual, a drag of lips to tease before it deepened. Ellis opened his mouth at one point, but his partner didn’t take the offering.

Instead, he traced his nose along the side of Ellis’, let the tip of it tickle his cheek, let his hot breath puff over skin. The mechanic felt lightheaded, felt his weight shifting forward into his hands to give it all to Nick. And he took it, his hands anchoring in Ellis’ hair and at his hip, pulling him in so he could search deep with teeth and tongue.

When they parted it felt as though his pulse was concentrated in his lips and brain and between his legs. By some small grace, he could recall one thing: there was a bed in the room. He wondered why they weren’t on it.

Ellis pushed gently but the big body didn’t yield, which was disappointing because he didn’t think he could make his voice work to ask why.

Nick’s hands answered him anyway, plucking at the yellow fabric of his shirt and pulling it both from his skin and up from where it was tucked into his coveralls. Ellis reached behind himself to grab the back of it and pull it over his head, shimmying it down his arms and then tossing it aside. He stared at it a moment, suddenly anxious.

Now, Ellis wasn’t ashamed of his body by any means. He wasn’t a body builder or anything, but he enjoyed working out and keeping himself fit. It was just a little different when somebody with Nick’s apparently rigid regimen was standing in front of him.

When the conman had used the bathroom, he’d taken off his rings to wash as thoroughly as he could and he’d never replaced them. It was different feeling his bare touch as it lifted his right arm.

“This is the ugliest tattoo I’ve ever seen,” Nick announced.

Suddenly, words weren’t so hard after all. “Now, wait’a minute. This here’s cool as shit.”

The other survivor rolled his eyes.

“It _is_,” Ellis protested. “Y’wanna see ugly? Y’should see the one Keith got, I mean besides the ‘moron’ one. It went like a sleeve of nonsense all over his arm an’ down to his chest—an’ apparently it hurts over bone ‘cause he kept movin’ an’ messin’ it up. Then he didn’t wanna keep it covered an’ got an infection.” It had been pretty gross, but he didn’t want to mention that.

Nick made a noise to indicate he was listening, but his eyes were watching where he was thumbing the blue ink. When his hands moved up, giving messaging little squeezes as they went over his shoulders and neck and chest, Ellis figured he’d finish the story later. He wouldn’t have been able to even if he’d wanted, not once the pads of thick fingers brushed over his nipples.

The feeling that sparked through him was… well, it was new and _good_. He’d never felt anything like that touching himself and when he’d been with girls, well, his nipples weren’t the ones he’d been paying attention to. He must’ve leant into it, because Nick repeated the motion again, and then again to make a small gasp slip right out of Ellis’ open mouth.

Nick leant in to taste it, and it was easier then to push forward, to not have to look into those eyes as he enjoyed the attention on both his chest and mouth. Easy to open up and let Nick’s tongue continue learning his mouth.

The back of the older man’s fingers traced down, over his abdominals and to the sides, tickling his waist before grabbing his hips in firm hands. Ellis went forward, mouth falling away when he found himself needing to gulp in air fast. Nick’s thumbs circled his hip bones, giving them both a moment. When Ellis nudged his face upward again, pressing his temple to the older man’s jaw, the hands on him fell away.

He watched, eyes half-open, as Nick tugged the sleeves of his coveralls free from their knot at his waist. Once the knot was undone, the northerner pushed the material down his hips. Ellis stepped back and pushed them down, failing to look sexy once the wet material made it a struggle to get his legs free. Once he kicked them away, though, his partner was already reaching for him.

Ellis bypassed his hands to make things even. He hooked his hand into Nick’s belt and tugged. That got a laugh that the smaller man interrupted because he wanted to kiss the smile that went along with it. He tried to undo the buckle without stopping their kiss, but after a second he dropped his face down to get it open faster. Once he was done, he looked back up to Nick and tugged the leather free of the loops in one strong jerk before throwing it aside.

Nick grinned and grabbed his face with both hands to kiss him again, wet and exploratory. That was just fine by him, he didn’t need to see to pop his button free and pull down the zipper.

Emboldened, Ellis even considered slipping his hand inside, but decided it was better to go where Nick led. That ended up being the bed when the back of his knees hit the mattress and he collapsed down onto it. He instinctively scooted backwards, watching with big eyes as Nick managed to do what he couldn’t and get out of his pants in a relatively sexy way.

Ellis tried very hard not to stare at the other man’s boxers as he lifted one thick thigh to climb onto the bed. He also wasn’t sure how to lay, or look, or what to do at this point, but it had been nice to let Nick take control so far. He just wasn’t sure where that was going to lead.

It must’ve shown on his face, because Nick, on his knees, gave pause. “This okay?”

Ellis, stunned, gaped at him, yet again, before mentally reprimanding himself. He was pretty sure he’d never been harder in his entire life, was pretty sure it was obvious through his boxers, was pretty _sure_ in general so he hadn’t anticipated the question. It was nice, a bit charming even, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud and boost the other man’s ego. Or piss him off, depending on which direction his mood would take.

He moved close, setting a leg on either side of Nick’s, and put his hands back on him. As an answer, he straightened his spine and tilted his head up in offering.

The conman gripped his chin and asked again: “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Ellis whispered through his smile.

Nick ran his other hand back through the curly hair, gripped some of the locks there, and kissed him hard. Ellis pressed up against him, slipping his arms around firm flanks and holding tight. The pressure at his mouth was insistent and heady, as encompassing as all the ones that came before. He was so overcome by it that it took Nick three tugs of his hair for him to realize he was being guided back against the pillows.

He went with an embarrassed little laugh once he was released, resting back on the cushions and letting his legs go where Nick maneuvered. The older man eased himself down on one side so he could hover above Ellis and control the pace of their lips. Now, if he thought kissing in dirty clothes in even dirtier surroundings, craning his neck every which way was arousing—well, it didn’t hold much of a candle to doing it when there was something soft against his back. It also wasn’t all that bad to be resting while someone else made him forget to breathe.

The mattress dipped as Nick sunk his shoulder into it. With the new position he covered the mechanic’s forehead with his left palm. His right he used to cup Ellis’ jaw and encourage him to part his lips once again. When he did, the hold slipped over his neck, not gripping but resting and feeling. Then Nick’s tongue curled in, slick and searching and Ellis groaned against it.

The gambler leant back, dropping a kiss to the younger man’s top and then bottom lip in succession. The hands blazing across Ellis’ skin moved away so that Nick could reposition again. He planted one elbow to hold his weight so that his free hand could rub down, over one of Ellis’ pectorals and then the other. The mechanic copied him as best he could. His right arm he could only use to rub the bigger man’s side, but his left hand he stroked over chest hair and muscle in little circles.

Nick kissed him again for the effort, closed mouth and gentle this time. It was almost more distracting than the wet, filthy ones. When the northerner made a sound against him, like gravel made voice—a sound of _enjoyment_—he didn’t want to be distracted anymore. With the arm he’d wrapped around the bigger man, he tried to urge him closer. And the only closer was directly on top of him.

The older man went, breath hot on Ellis’ face as they stared at one another. It was hard to hold his eyes, though, not when he so readily spread his legs to let the large body crowd between them. This was new, too, and he felt his stomach tighten against the fluttery feeling inside it. When Nick settled in, he lowered his eyes, ostensibly to track the movement of his hands over those strong shoulders and arms once again.

His teammate was holding himself up on his knees between Ellis’ spread thighs. One hand was beside his head and the other was forcing him to look up again.

He didn’t know why it was so hard to look in his eyes.

Nick’s dropped his hand down and then his body followed, aligning along Ellis’, heavy and warm and _good, thick, perfect_. The only parts of them that weren’t completely pressed together were their hips, but honestly the younger man thought he might spill early if they did that. And it seemed like the last thing Nick wanted was for things to end early.

“This okay?” he asked, again.

Ellis nodded and put his arms over the other man’s shoulders to pull him into another kiss. From there they turned lewd again—wet and audible—and for all that he was covered almost completely by his partner, Ellis felt exposed like never in his life. And he really liked it.

One of Nick’s arms was reaching under his back, searching for skin to touch in a comfortable spot where he could keep hold. His free hand was lifting one of Ellis’ from the back of his neck and guiding it into the back of his hair. The bassist twisted his fingers there, shuddering when Nick rumbled into his mouth in approval. From there the conman’s free hand joined the other, holding Ellis tight although he had nowhere to go and nowhere else he wanted to be at the moment.

When Nick let him breathe he needed to gulp at it, but he held tight to his hair and body, not wanting him to move just because he needed a second. The northerner gave a husky laugh against him and then nosed the side of his face where it had landed. From there his lips followed, drawing a tender path from the corner of his mouth up to his cheekbone and down, along his jaw where teeth joined in the caress. Ellis’ sucked in through his nostrils, eyelids fluttering as he turned his face to the side, thanking his foresight for scrubbing his face and neck so thoroughly clean.

The older man worked over along his jaw, catching Ellis’ chin between his teeth and then kissing his cleft teasingly before moving on to the other side. The smaller survivor moved his head with it, giving all the access he could as easily as he could, eyes shut to feel it and mouth drooped open _because_ he was feeling it.

The kisses moved from the corner of his jaw to his neck, rotating between pursed little touches and teeth and tongue. Nick slathered one over his pulse point before latching onto it and sucking. Ellis moaned, louder than he intended, and the gambler grumbled again in return.

“That feel good?” Nick murmured against his throat.

Ellis nodded, scraping his fingers lightly over the scalp under them. The bigger man liked that, and it seemed like when he liked something, he gave back the pleasure tenfold. He set across the southerner’s throat, opening his mouth to suck on his opposing pulse. Ellis lifted into it, wishing he could wrap his arms around Nick’s back and grab muscle and skin. What he could do was plant his feet to the mattress and lift his hips and press himself up against hard abs.

Nick’s hand slipped free and shot down to grab the younger man’s thigh, squeezing the muscle aggressively before kneading back to his hamstring. Above he was sucking and biting, nothing too hard, probably not hard enough to leave any marks. Ellis didn’t know if he was disappointed by that.

When he finally pulled away, he was breathing just as hard as the man beneath him. He nosed the skin he’d been working before speaking directly against it. “You like this?”

Ellis felt his eyebrows crease because his teammate had to know how difficult it was to do anything but feel. He swallowed heavily and managed to nod. Nick followed the motion of his throat with his mouth and ended it by sucking at the delicate skin under the smaller man’s chin.

“No girl ever kiss you here?”

_Never like this_, he couldn’t say.

Nick hummed against him and nuzzled down, as if he was going to continue the kisses even lower, but he stopped abruptly. Then he sighed. “Fuck, Ellis,” he rasped and the mechanic tightened all the more under and around him. “Wish we’d found a working shower.”

It occurred to him, dimly, that he must smell something awful. He licked his lips to apologize, but the conman cut him off.

“You know why?”

That made him realize he didn’t, so he shook his head, wanting to hear more of the older man’s voice while simultaneously wondering how much more blood could pool in his groin.

“So I can put my mouth all over you.”

A needy, little sound tried to escape his throat, one he hadn’t realized he was capable of making. Nick liked that.

“Would you let me?”

Ellis gave a fierce nod.

“You want that?”

He twisted his fingers in dark hair, frustrated and horny.

Nick reached back and untangled them and then did the same with the mechanic’s arms, opting to lay them back above his head on the pillows. Then he shifted back, balancing his weight between his knees and left arm. Ellis stared up at him but didn’t move from where he’d been placed.

Two fingers were put to his neck, tickling as they skimmed down to trace along his collarbone. “Here?”

Ellis couldn’t answer, found it too hard to even watch the handsome face above him.

They traced down along his sternum, darting off to the side to graze his nipple. When the mechanic arched, he rolled the nub between his fingertips. When Ellis gasped, he shifted his weight so that he could tease with both hands.

“Nobody’s kissed you here; you want that?”

Ellis slammed his eyes shut, chest too overwhelmed and mind too jumbled to process why Nick’s questions were both mortifying and _sexy_.

The thick fingers relented, letting his back sag back down. They slipped down his stomach instead, a testament to the path he hoped Nick’s mouth would take one day. Beneath his navel they followed the line of his happy trail, pausing at the band of his boxers. Two hands dipped quickly to his hipbones, thumbs pressing in and then releasing so Nick could rub his touch to the top of Ellis’ thighs. When they turned, slipped over, and squeezed the southerner’s inner thighs they opened as if he had no control over them.

“Here?” Nick’s voice was hushed.

Ellis nodded.

The touch moved up, over his boxers. There was hesitation, or _teasing_, before those two fingers just barely brushed over the line of his dick. Ellis flinched and felt his entire body go taut.

The conman didn’t need to ask, and he knew it. He just felt with his fingers along the hard line of the younger man’s arousal before gripping it tight. Ellis groaned and reached down to grab the strong forearm, though that was more to anchor himself than stop it. He found himself watching as Nick stroked him through the fabric, found himself gasping, found himself rocking and slowing the touch to savor it.

It felt good, it _looked _good to see Nick rubbing him like this, but he realized that he hadn’t really done much to reciprocate. The fuzz in his mind didn’t seem like enough of an excuse.

He added his other hand to the older man’s forearm, squeezing and gently detaching the touch. Nick went back easily and then went back even farther when Ellis sat up. There was a momentary flash of worry over his face, though the southerner felt like he had more reason to be unsure considering what he was thinking.

He reached out to assuage him, slipping his hands and then arms over the broad shoulders for balance as he climbed into Nick’s lap. Relieved, the conman placed his hands on the younger man’s hips and shuffled them a bit, moving so that his legs could bend over the end of the bed. Then he made eye contact and gently pulled Ellis forward. The younger survivor felt his erection line up once again with firm abs, but more than that he felt the length of Nick pressing thickly against the curve of his ass.

Ellis buried his moan in the other man’s mouth, pressing up against him with as much of his body as he could. Nick’s hands were searing over his sides and back, petting and massaging as much as they were pulling him into an undulation. Ellis went with the motions, then remembered he’d intended to take charge, and dropped his forehead down to a shoulder, took a breath, and then turned his face to the side so he could put his lips on Nick’s neck.

The gambler turned his jaw immediately to let Ellis have access. He’d done this to girls plenty of times before, and if the blemish on his partner’s skin was anything to go by, Nick enjoyed having his lovers spend time there. Honestly, though, Ellis was trying really hard not to think about that or the scratches on his chest that were too shallow to have been from a zombie. He kissed up and down, winding his fingers in the bigger man’s hair again and turning his head. Under his lips he could feel the vibration of Nick’s enjoyment and amusement.

On the other side, opposite of someone else’s mark, Ellis—who knew somewhere that marking each other probably wasn’t the best idea—made one of his own, a pattern of his teeth and suction.

Nick inhaled sharply and then once he’d released his skin, dragged his head back by his hair to kiss him again.

“Jealous?” he asked once they parted.

Ellis felt it in his chest, but just pressed his forehead to his teammate’s and breathed in place of an answer. Nick made a humming sound, rubbed down his sides to take his hips in his palms. Gently, he nuzzled the younger man’s face forward and gave him a rather chaste kiss present situation considered. Then he pulled on Ellis’ waist.

“Roll your hips.”

The hick let himself go with the guidance, looking and breathing down between them. Nick’s hands alternated their pressure, one side and then the other, leading Ellis’ hips in a circle. When the smaller man started to move on his own, the conman let his touch wander back to feel over the skin of his lower back and then even lower. His palms settled over the globes of Ellis’ ass, causing his rolling to stutter to a stop. He squeezed, teasingly, but the southerner had to bury his head down in his shoulder because it felt _good_.

“That’s it,” Nick whispered when he started moving again. “Good boy.”

Ellis felt his dick jerk and he rubbed up against the other man and then back into his hands, back and forth, wondering wildly why and how the combination of Nick’s voice, his gripping touch, _his smell_, made everything so much more intense than his past sexual experiences.

The praise was hanging heavy between his ears, burning his face and chest but he still chased the words, circling around and then grinding down against the older man’s dick. At that Nick rocked up against him, once and twice, and then his arms were cording around Ellis’ middle to lift him, standing with him as easily as if the younger man weighed nothing.

He turned and tossed Ellis back down onto the bed and prowled after him. After he got himself back up against the pillows, the hick, eyes stuck on Nick’s expression, slipped his fingers under the band of his boxers and started pushing them down. The gambler lifted a brow but reached out to help him out of them.

Ellis swallowed as they were thrown aside, swallowed again when gray eyes roved over the sight of him. Nick made to lie next to him, but the southerner hooked one of his feet on his thigh to direct him back between his legs. He could almost see the desire darken his eyes at that and he wondered why it was easier to look now—why it was _important_ to look now.

Nick took his dick with gentle fingers, stroking soft and unhurried and exploratory. He was watching every expression, relishing every noise the mechanic made. When he leant down to kiss him, Ellis let him taste his excitement, too.

“You close?” he murmured around Ellis’ tongue. “Want me to get you off? I want you to _say_ it.”

“Nick,” Ellis half-begged. He pulled him by his neck, wanting that big body down against him. As his teammate lowered to indulge him, he hurriedly reached down to push away his boxers, as well.

Nick paused only a moment before rebalancing so he could reach one of his hands to help. Together they got the fabric down around his thighs. Ellis stared down between them, completely unsurprised when the other man’s cock was as thick as the rest of him.

The man above him was waiting for a reaction, so Ellis skimmed his hands up his flanks and pulled. Nick went down slowly and carefully, _finally_ aligning their dicks without any barriers between them.

His eyes searched Ellis’ face, yet again. “Okay?”

The hick tightened his arms over his shoulders and licked his lips. “Thissis more’n okay,” he slurred.

Nick chuckled and took his mouth again, anchoring his arms so he could start rocking downward. Ellis opened up to let him inside, both mouth and legs, gasping and moaning at the overwhelming pressure. The gambler shifted, weighing them both down into the mattress so he could grab the back of his teammate’s knees and lift.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered. When he was obeyed, he gave praise again: “Good boy.”

Ellis arched and clung, breathing and grunting as his partner quickened the pace. He could feel himself twitching, spilling precum that made their grinding wet and audible. Nick burrowed his face back into the younger man’s neck, licking and murmuring there. He wished he could decipher what he was saying, wished he could make sense out of all the sounds pushing him too high. Wished he had the willpower to focus them out and calm his pleasure so it would last.

As it was, he bucked up against Nick, the drag of hard, velvet skin against his own so much better than it had any right to be. He shoved his fingers back into the older man’s hair, held him tight to keep the suction at his neck, almost cried out when strong hands dug under him to squeeze and spread his ass cheeks. The conman used the leverage to lift his hips, fondling and holding as he thrusted.

Ellis wished it could last—hoped they’d start off right from this the next time.

“Nick,” he ground out, a warning.

His teammate withdrew from him immediately, hands sliding down to guide the mechanic’s legs from around him and back onto the bed. With one hand he took hold of his hip and then spat into the other, using it to encircle their dicks together. He resumed his grinding, his fingers working in tandem with the motion.

Ellis gasped, unsure what to do with his hands, unsure what to do in general but let Nick work him towards orgasm. He stared, also unsure if he could do anything but that with the way the older man’s body was flexing with his movements, with the way gray eyes were staring right back.

“You gonna cum?” Nick asked, breathless.

The hick tried to nod and then let his head loll to the side, let his fingers twist in the sheets as he felt the high buzzing through his stomach and hips and balls and cock.

“Yeah? Wanna watch you shoot all over yourself. C’mon.”

Nick’s position shifted, his hand wrapping only around the younger man’s dick while his thrusts continued, hot and hard against his ass and perineum. Ellis moaned, trying to rock and hump, trying to _do anything_ as the man above him worked his cum out of him, up and out to spurt thick against Ellis’ neck and chest and stomach.

The conman milked it all, fingers draining him, making him spasm and spill more than he should’ve been able. Just after his dick convulsed the last time, just before the grip could become painful, Nick released him, hands moving to the younger man’s thighs to rub and soothe him through the aftershocks.

When Ellis could finally open his eyes, the older man smirked. “Good?”

“Muh,” he answered, eloquently. Then: “Holy shit.”

Nick laughed and then leant over him when the hick reached for him. Ellis craned up to kiss him, making an appreciative sound in the bigger man’s mouth when he lowered further to make the contact easier.

When they parted, Ellis pecked another quick one and then pushed his fingertips into Nick’s chest and pulled down, over the bandages, across his stomach, reaching down and looking up to make sure it was alright. The gambler moved, putting a knee on either side of his teammate’s hips.

“Wanna get me off, now?”

“Yeah,” Ellis whispered. He wrapped his fingers around the still-hard, red dick and squeezed.

Nick enclosed his hand over the smaller man’s. “Gonna let me cum on you?”

Ellis’ cock jerked in an effort to get hard again, foolhardy as the wish might be. He nodded in answer to what he’d been asked and watched his hand be taken, drawn up, spit into, and then returned to the pulsing girth between them. He let Nick guide him, eyes intent on memorizing every twist, every squeeze, every stroke the older man enjoyed.

Before long the conman’s hips started rocking into Ellis’ jerking, and that was a sight—to watch his abs flex as he chased his pleasure. He felt like he could watch it forever, but he also really liked kissing Nick so he didn’t complain when the northerner’s hand dropped away so that he could perch himself above Ellis and do so, loud and distracting for how they moaned into it.

“Just like that,” he encouraged when they separated. He kissed to Ellis’ jaw and down, teething and puffing at his neck.

The mechanic listened, face hot as he pulled at the thick dick. He twisted his wrist, skimmed his thumb over the slit, jerked fast and hard, the slick sound of his spit over his teammate’s cock warring with the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

“That’s it, Ellis,” Nick’s voice cut through it, hushed though it was. “Good boy. Faster.”

And Ellis was wrong. He _could _get hard again, all he needed was to hear the older man’s breath quicken, to feel the rocking of his body, to _hear_ him talk, all gravel-like. To be kissed, searching and deep and _appreciative_ as Nick convulsed against him, to swallow his groans and be covered with cum.

Nick caught himself from crushing down against the younger man, palms planted on the mattress as he stared down at Ellis’ red face.

Ellis stared back. “…Y’okay?”

“Me?” the conman laughed. He canted his head to the other man’s chest. “You’re a mess.”

The southerner looked down, eyes tracking the pattern of white sprayed out over his pectorals and ribs and stomach.

Nick held himself up on one arm so they could see better. After a moment he reached down to pull his boxers back up. Then he asked, incredulous: “You’re hard again?”

He had the sense to blush at that. “Ain’t m’fault.”

“Ain’tchyer fault?” the other man parroted, mimicking his accent.

Ellis grinned and put his hands to the gambler’s ribs. He tried to pull him back down, but Nick didn’t budge. He tried again. “Juss wanna kiss you,” he explained.

Nick’s eyebrow arched even as he humored him. “That all?”

His smile morphed back into a grin. “No,” he admitted.

His teammate kissed him. “Gonna convince me?”

Ellis licked a swipe up over his lips and then laughed with him at how decidedly _unsexy_ it felt.

The laughter was a little too loud, a little too untimely, because it covered up two rapid knocks on the thin door, leaving them disoriented and speechless and unable to do anything when it slid open.

“Fuck,” Nick muttered just before Coach started yelling.

“What in the HELL are you doin’?!”

Ellis winced, wondering if it was possible to live the embarrassment down or if it was better to let a zombie put him out of his misery. Rochelle, especially, was going to be relentless with her jokes, he just knew.

“Get offa him!”

And Coach was probably going to lecture him on appropriate behavior at appropriate times in appropriate places—of which another man’s bed probably wasn’t a good place to have sex with one of your teammates. No matter how _good_ it had been.

Nick sat back on his haunches, grabbing the sheet and shaking it out so he could cover the man beneath him. Ellis sat up halfway, grateful, and though he knew it was rude, used it to clean himself off.

Now, he was waiting to be reprimanded, to be yelled at some more. What he hadn’t expected was for Coach to grab the conman by the arm and wrench him from the bed. Nick was even more surprised and failed to get his footing under him in time which resulted in him tripping and smashing his back against one of the miniature cabinets stored in the room. He hissed and retaliated immediately by shoving the ex-footballer back.

“The _fuck _is your problem?!”

Ellis reached frantically for his boxers, desperate to get his feet through the holes and pull them up so he could intervene.

“What’s _my _problem?!” their leader snarled. He stepped up to the other man, towering with his height and intimidating with his weight. “I asked you a question. What the _hell _are you doin’?”

Nick smirked, one of his cruel, taunting ones. “Think it’s pretty obvious.”

Coach shoved him again, but the conman managed to catch himself before he could hit his back again. Ellis had just gotten his boxers up, was stripping the sheets from his legs when the commotion drew their final teammate into the open doorway.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. Her eyes fell on the mechanic first, widening at his state of undress. Then she took in Nick’s and he could see the realization in her eyes. Ellis just about wished the boat would sink.

The gambler was righting himself, stepping back up in Coach’s space. His brows were downturned, eyes hard, and mouth twisted in a grimace. “Touch me again, I dare you.”

Ellis wasn’t about to let it happen. He sprung over, pushing his way between the two much larger bodies. He got Coach to take a step back, but Nick had nowhere to go so he kept one hand firm to his chest.

“What are you thinkin’?!” Coach demanded, as if Rochelle and Ellis hadn’t interrupted at all.

“Coach, what’s the matter with you?” the hick asked, not bothering to keep the confusion or panic out of his voice. He almost felt like he’d been pushed, too for how badly the venom in his voice stung, for how sudden and unrepentant his attack had been. Especially with how readily he’d started smiling at the conman not all that long ago.

Again, the two feuding men spoke right over him.

“What am _I _thinking?”

“Yes, what are you _thinkin’_?! Boy ‘bout near worships you and you take advantage of ‘im like this?!”

Nick sputtered around a laugh. “What?!”

“Coach,” Ellis tried again, “he didn’t—…”

“You gonna answer me?”

“I didn’t take advantage of anyone.”

“How old is he, Nick?! How old is he?”

The conman glared. “He’s not a kid, Coach.”

“Twenty-three, ain’t you?” Coach finally looked at him, although the question was rhetorical. “And how old are you, Nick? Huh? How many years you got on the boy? Ten? More?”

Ellis didn’t know why that mattered. Couldn’t see why it would matter since he was an adult. Couldn’t understand what point their eldest team member was trying to make. Couldn’t understand why he’d been ready to throttle Nick. Because they thought he was some child?

“What’s your point?” Nick’s voice had gone dismissive and distant, like it had been when they’d first met him on that rooftop.

“My point? I gotta spell it out for ya?! He’s young and stressed! Boy almost died at least three different times—you think his head’s in the right place right now?”

“You’d better not be implying what I think you are,” the northerner warned. “I didn’t do anything we didn’t want to do.”

Ellis appreciated the inclusion. He turned to his fellow southerner and shook his head. “He ain’t lyin’t’you.”

“Coach,” Rochelle tried, stern. “You voiced your concerns, now I think it’s time to walk away.”

“No. I ain’t done with Nick.”

“Well, I’m pretty done with you.”

“You wanna look me in the eyes and tell me you thought this through? You wanna tell me this was a smart move?”

“Ellis,” Rochelle called this time. “C’mon. Let them work it out.”

“He tried to throw Nick through the wall,” Ellis protested. “I ain’t leavin’em alone.”

“Ellis,” Nick said then, voice gentler somehow. He waited until the younger man turned to look at him. “It’s okay. Go on.”

For some reason—the resigned look on his face, the placation of his voice, the _dismissal_—the words stung. “I ain’t leavin’ so y’all kin talk about me.”

“No, we’re gonna talk about Nick. I’mma come find you after.”

“I ain’t one’a yer players, Coach,” Ellis said, his voice more caustic than he’d ever heard it. He was a little ashamed by it, but he knew he’d feel worse if he didn’t at least stand his ground.

Nick tried to hold in his laugh, but the bassist heard the pride in it. Then he felt a hand on his back. When the conman spoke again, it was quiet, meant for only him though that was impossible in the small room. “He wants to yell, let him. Go with Rochelle.”

Ellis didn’t want to. He didn’t want to leave them alone and have whatever Coach had to say sink in. To have Nick regret anything they’d done. And that thought just burned right down through him, as if his ribs were on fire. Nick wouldn’t do that, not with how easy everything had been. Yet the worry was there, just under the embers in his gut.

“Ellis,” the reporter all but begged.

Incensed, outnumbered, and mortified, the youngest survivor bit his lip and snatched up his clothes before slipping through the door. In the next room over he made sure to put his socks, coveralls, and boots back on. Rochelle was waiting for him to finish, but he could feel the shame burning the back of his neck so he went right out onto the deck without a word.

The sky was clearing and the air was warm, but still he yanked his shirt over his head and tucked it in. Then he tied the sleeves of his work gear tight around his waist. Finally, he pulled his hat low over his face and sat against one of the corners, letting the little walls hold his weight so he could stare at the water.

His mind was buzzing with anger and frustration while regret laid claim to his chest. Not regret for Nick, he knew, but for pretty much everything else. The anger and frustration outweighed it anyway. Ellis hated being angry, but he couldn’t be anything else with how he’d just been patronized. How it had been insinuated that he—what? Didn’t know how he felt? That his feelings were wrong—and no, they weren’t, he wasn’t going back there again; he couldn’t—or that he was misreading them? That he only had feelings at all because of the zombies?

He shook his head to himself and gave a bitter little laugh. He’d already been through all this—he was attracted to men and women. Right now, he was attracted to Nick. He _liked _Nick.

But maybe that was the problem? Maybe Coach thought he was being stupid or naïve or something. That had to be it, with how he’d thrown around his age. How he’d repeated _boy _again and again. Ellis wasn’t stupid, though it was true he _could _be naïve, but he wasn’t in this. He knew that he was an overly affectionate person, that he made friends easily, that he was charmed by people easily, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand people.

He wasn’t _naïve_ enough to think that Nick liked him back. _And that’s okay_, he told himself harshly. It was. It was just fine. Nick didn’t need to like him. They were adults. Two consenting adults and being with him felt nice and easy and funny and _really good_. And it was okay to experience that for a little bit, even in an apocalypse.

The door opened and Ellis glanced up from under his brim. He’d been grateful for the few minutes Rochelle had given him, but he knew she was going to follow eventually.

She was the kindest of them, evidenced by the way she walked towards him, as if she wished she could give him all the time they didn’t have. “…Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Ellis shrugged a shoulder. “Coach’s juss gonna come bother me anyway.”

She sighed and lowered herself to sit next to him, watching as the shore passed by. “You know, I was gonna ask when we found you guys in that safe house.”

“Wha?” Ellis looked to her in disbelief.

“Your lips were pretty swollen,” she teased.

“That a reporter thing or a woman thing?”

“That’s a Rochelle thing,” she corrected.

He smiled at her, grateful that he could. She was quickly becoming one of his favorite people, which was why he needed to know what she thought. “…Y’think Coach is right?”

She took a deep breath and rolled her head back. “Honestly?”

He nodded.

“I don’t think it’s any of our damn business,” she stated, matter of fact.

Ellis smiled and quelled the urge to hug her. He hadn’t exactly stopped to wash his hands as he rushed out, after all.

“…I do have to ask one thing, though.”

“What?”

“Is he good?”

The mechanic felt his skin burn. “Ro!” He hid back under his hat. “C’mon.”

“Look, I don’t want to know details,” she explained, voice on the verge of laughter. “Please, _please_, don’t tell me the details. I just have to know.”

“Man,” Ellis drawled. “I dun—I mean, _yeah_.”

“Dammit.”

The younger survivor laughed at the absurdity of it. “Why’s it matter?”

“He’s so smug,” the reporter answered. “I just wanted to have _something_ to knock him down a peg.”

Ellis shook his head, smile fading but not disappearing. Well, not until he heard the door open again and looked up to find Coach heading towards them.

“Want me to stay?” Rochelle asked.

“Hell, I don’t even wanna stay… but, thanks. Yer the best.”

“I’ll take that in writing whenever we find paper,” she joked, putting a hand on his shoulder as she rose. He watched her feet step out of his line of sight and Coach’s step in.

“Can I talk to you?”

_Talk at me_, Ellis thought. He’d had plenty of teachers like that back in school. All the same, he wanted to know what he’d said to Nick so he shrugged a shoulder.

“Look,” Coach said, “I know you’re angry, but I’m gonna explain.”

Ellis waited.

“Thing about you, Ellis, is that it’s real easy to see thatchyou wear your heart on your sleeve.”

So easy everyone could see it. That just told him he’d been right.

“And right now—right now things are confusin’. We’re fightin’ for our lives. Doin’ things no person should hafta do to survive. That ain’t puttin’ any of us at our best. We’re leanin’ on each other like family, but, pains me to say, we don’t really know each other… Especially Nick.”

There it was. Ellis bowed his head and looked to his boots.

“Do you understand when I say he’s takin’ advantage’a you? He ain’t thinkin’ ‘bout how you feel or what you want. He’s thinkin’ ‘bout himself. You backin’ him up just means he doesn’t hafta face any consequences.” Coach waited a beat. “Ellis?”

The mechanic lifted his head, thumbing the brim up so he didn’t have to crane his neck so far to see the older man’s face. “…Thinkin’ ‘bout himself? Y’mean like when he saved me from that Hunter the first time? How ‘bout the _third _time? Or when he helped us save Rochelle from that Smoker? Or when he charged through a horde’a zombies to save me in the swamp? How ‘bout when he distracted a Tank away from me or when he saved you from that log? When he took out that Witch for us?” He hated how his voice trembled towards the end, how his breathing had quickened.

The bigger man looked unconvinced. “We been tradin’ saves back and forth since this thing started, Ellis. He needs us to stay alive.”

Ellis shook his head, but he had a feeling nothing he said was going to win this argument. But, as Rochelle had stated, he didn’t need to. “Coach,” he said, steadily, “I respectchya, but I ain’t a kid, I _ain’t_ yer son… an’ I don’t wanna hear any more.” He turned back to the water.

Coach, begrudging and frustrated, retreated to the captain’s deck. Ellis had to clench and unclench his fists a few times to will away his shaking. Now he had an idea of what he’d said to the conman. Now he had an idea of what Nick could be feeling. What he didn’t have was how he’d taken it. If he’d laughed, if he’d rolled his eyes but let the words be said, or worst of all if he’d _agreed_. If he thought touching the hick was a mistake.

Ellis didn’t think it was, but he was only one half of it. What he thought and felt weren’t all that mattered.

The door opened one last time and he looked up, hopeful. A hope that warred with his worry as Nick walked to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length got a little out of hand, so thanks for reading through! I hope you enjoyed this part. The next one might be a bit longer as I have some projects to do for work. Thank you for your patience and understanding!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the final stretch; the group has to contend not only with the madness of New Orleans but the stress of their strained relationships.

“Takes real talent to piss Ellis off,” Nick bit, because he was pretty pissed off, too, though that was nothing new. He turned back to the other man while fastening his belt back in place.

“Guess that puts me on your level?” Coach had moved to the opposite wall. He crossed his burly arms over his chest. His face was no longer twisted in rage but _disgust_.

That was something the gambler was used to. “Say whatever you need to make yourself feel better and then get the hell away from me.”

The older man made an abortive little snarl, but he shut his eyes tight and breathed much the same to will whatever he’d wanted to snap away. “This ain’t right, Nick.”

“What’s not right is you putting your hands on me,” the northerner said. “What’s not _right_ is you accusing me in front of our friends.”

“Oh, they _our_ friends now?”

Nick thought his eyes would roll right out of his skull. “Oh, come the _fuck_ on, Coach!”

Yellow-lined shoulders shrugged. “Was a time you couldn’t wait to get on your own.”

“You mean when I didn’t know you guys?!”

“Still not sure we do know you. Especially after this.”

_Oh, Jesus Christ_, how much was he going to have to do for these people? “That it, Coach? You don’t trust me? After all the shit we’ve been through? I saved your goddamn life.” He snatched up his shirt and pulled it, painfully, over his shoulders. “I’m not gonna lie and say I didn’t wanna cut you loose at the beginning but you’re gonna stand there and tell me I’ve done _nothing _to earn your trust?” He didn’t bother buttoning it. Making eye contact was more important now.

Coach held it for long, tense moments. Finally, his shoulders sagged along with his stormy expression. He shook his head, mostly at himself. “…Look, you’re right. I shouldn’t’ve grabbed ya. I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

_That’s it, huh? _Nick shook his head, too. Disappointment wasn’t a good enough word for what he felt. He’d gone back and forth with how he felt about these people. He’d struggled with how he’d come to trust them because he hadn’t trusted in a long time. _If ever_. He’d realized it was why he’d been so pissed about how he’d perceived Ellis’ judgment before, though now that it was sorted, he didn’t plan on letting a miscommunication like that happen again.

Coach had always seemed the most level-headed of them, so his behavior left the conman unbalanced. _Another lesson learned_.

“Yeah,” he said, “you’ll understand if I’m not all forgiveness and tears.”

“All I can do is apologize and not do it again,” their leader responded. “But we need to talk about this.”

“Sure,” Nick replied, unconvinced and feeling the sneer take over his face. “Let’s start with why it’s any of your business.”

“Keepin’ this team alive is my business.”

“And me and Ellis having sex is gonna get us killed?”

Coach flinched as if he’d been struck. So, another thing Nick had been right about. He wondered how well the ex-footballer would have hid his discomfort if he’d found out about his preferences earlier.

“Wait, sorry, it wasn’t sex. What’d you call it? Taking advantage of him?”

“And I stand by that,” the bigger man asserted. “Nothin’bout this is right. Boy’s confused and you—…”

“He’s _bi_,” Nick announced, not sure why it needed to be after what he’d witnessed. “I came out to him,” here he shrugged, “and he came out to me.”

“Hell of a coincidence.”

_Fucking Christ_, how he wished he’d taken a moment to think about checking the door for a lock or that he’d shoved something up against it. Anything to save him from how ridiculous this was getting. “You think he…what? Turned the straight off? Makes perfect sense.”

“I think he’s young and impressionable. Was awful sweet on that girl we met in Rayford.” Nick didn’t need to be reminded.

“So, I ‘_impressioned_’ him into liking cock? Just say you hate gay people, it’s fine.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. That ain’t what I’m sayin’.” Didn’t need to be _said_, as far as Nick was concerned.

“He’s twenty-three. That’s an adult.”

“You don’t think that’s young?” Coach demanded. “You think he’s got everythin’ figured out? You weren’t makin’ any dumb mistakes at that age?”

Nick felt his mouth purse because he’d made a hell of a lot of mistakes starting from his preteen years right up until the present day. Age didn’t really seem to be a distinction for him. Ellis, on the other hand—sure, he was goofy, but he had a good head on his shoulders most of the time. It was a bit disconcerting to hear that Coach thought otherwise.

“We’re all out here killin’, almost gettin’ killed, and runnin’ on damn fumes. Now, you tell me how your head would be through all this at his age.” He moved his hand through the air, as if he was erasing something on a chalkboard. “No, better yet, tell me how, at twenty-three, your body would’ve handled all the stress and adrenaline?”

Exactly the same as it was handling it at thirty-five apparently. The sex had relieved them both, had felt good, and had obviously been a comfort to their youngest teammate. He gave the older man the simple answer he wanted: “I would’ve been horny.”

Coach nodded, like he’d made some breakthrough in the discussion.

“See, you’re acting like you’ve said something to make me regret what happened, but you haven’t.”

Here, the big man crossed his arms again. He looked down momentarily and then raised his head, face both forlorn and disappointed. “_You_ ain’t Ellis. _You_ would’a been horny, would’a slept with someone, and that would’a been it.”

Nick was pretty sure he still did that when he could. “Yep, that’s the great thing about being an adult.”

Coach searched his eyes, with that look his stepmother used to give him when he knew better than to play stupid. When there was something he was supposed to be getting. It made him think back on the swamp when he’d kissed Ellis all those times and had been waiting for the bottom to drop out because of it. Now, he was started to feel his feet slip.

It was almost as if his teammate could see it, because he continued on: “He already looked up to ya before. Y’think this ain’t gonna change the way he looks atchya?”

“Let’s make it clear,” Nick said, just for the sake of arguing. There was something burning mildly like panic in his chest that he had to talk away. “He _looks up_ to you and Rochelle. He’s just _attracted_ to me.”

Coach looked like he wanted to argue that, but he ended up sticking with his original point. “I don’t think Ellis is _just_ anythin’, Nick. Don’t think the boy knows how to do things by halves.” He motioned to the conman. “And I don’t think you thought any of this through.”

Nick hated that he winced because—_God dammit_—Coach was right. He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face.

No, he definitely hadn’t thought it through. Of course he and Ellis weren’t alike—not even _remotely_—but they were both men so why had he needed to consider anything else? They were both feeling the strain of their journey, the stress, the need to relieve it somehow. They—_aw, fuck_, he could try to reason it all away to himself for the rest of the apocalypse if he wanted, that wasn’t going to change the fact that it was all utter fucking denial.

There were signs and he’d ignored them. The mechanic practically looked at him like he was single-handedly saving the world from the zombies. And after that first kiss? He’d wanted to risk getting eviscerated by a Witch for him—had been about ready to throw a tantrum when he’d been denied. Had almost thrown another when Nick had gone for that headshot.

And that didn’t even cover the way he practically melted any time the northerner touched him. The way he leant into their kisses, like he’d never been kissed the right way before. Like something about Nick’s meant more to him than arousal.

“Ah, tits,” he muttered.

Coach nodded at the assessment. “Y’need’ta go and fix this. Now. Before it gets worse.”

Nick swiped his hand through his hair and thought on that. By fix it, the other survivor meant end it. He meant going and admitting what they’d done was a mistake. Backpedaling on all of it, even that gentle smile Ellis had given when he’d realized he didn’t have to hide a part of himself away anymore.

Ellis hadn’t done that to him; he’d cleared their misunderstanding the first moment he could because he hadn’t wanted the conman to feel bad. And Nick was a pretty scummy guy sometimes, but he wasn’t about to practically pull someone out of the closet and leave them standing there alone. That’d make him exactly what Coach had implied—taking advantage of a situation. _Conning_ the kid to get what he wanted.

_Like hell_.

He dropped his hands to button his shirt. Once he finished, he rolled his sleeves up his forearms, looked to their leader, and asked a question that didn’t seem to be at the forefront of the coach’s mind: “What about what Ellis wants?”

“What Ellis will want is somethin’ you ain’t plannin’ on givin’ and we both know that.”

Nick thought about the way the younger man had touched him, had clung to him. He’d only ever been in relationships with women before. Probably committed ones. Probably ones where he’d done everything he could to make his partner happy. He couldn’t imagine Ellis being any other way. Couldn’t imagine him as anything but affectionate and devoted.

He wondered if that’s what Ellis wanted. He wondered if he wanted Nick to want it. He wondered why he was wondering.

Far more important was the loose thread he’d found. He decided to pull at it. “You don’t get to decide for Ellis just because you think you’re right.”

Coach was clearly taken aback.

Time to unravel, then. “So, yeah, didn’t think this through beyond my dick. I admit that,” he shrugged, “but whether this was a mistake or not seems like something that needs to be decided between me and Ellis. You’re leading us, but you’re not my fucking boss, Coach.”

“You really gon’ be that selfish?”

Nick wanted to laugh at the idea that the older man expected anything less from him. With Ellis’ lips in his mind and little gasping moans in his ears, he managed to dial it back to a smirk. “Go try your spiel on him, see if it takes.”

Coach glared, his lips pursing and fists clenching before he had no choice but to leave. Nick took a minute to clear his head and then crossed into the living area just as Rochelle was coming back in. Judging by the pinched expression on her face she’d been sitting with Ellis before Coach had exited and she hadn’t liked leaving him.

Her expression didn’t change as she watched him chug half a water bottle and rummage in the fisherman’s food stash. There was tons of food packed into the cupboards and stacked in piles against the walls, so he didn’t feel bad in swiping a granola bar or four.

“I said we wouldn’t take any of his food,” Rochelle reminded him.

“Yeah? Well, all our stuff is soaked with swamp water or Boomer puke so I’m sure he’ll be fine with donating a bit.”

She sighed and sat at the small table.

“Coach out there?”

The reporter nodded and put her chin in her hand. When he turned to look at her, she was still watching him intently. He sighed and squared his shoulders for the second onslaught. “Go ahead.”

“What?”

“Tell me how sleazy I am for going after Ellis.”

“That is not even in my top five reasons why you’re sleazy.”

He scoffed.

She offered a small smile. “Ellis asked for my opinion, too.”

“I _didn’t_ ask.”

“That’s your way of phrasing it so you don’t _have_ to ask.” Their female teammate waited a beat. “I told him it wasn’t any of my business.”

“That’s a crock of shit,” he said, almost apologetic. “It’s everybody’s business now. So, are you gonna bust my balls?”

“I don’t want to bust balls, talk about balls, or even _think_ about balls,” she retorted, voice dry. “Right now, I want the four of us to get to safety, then maybe I’ll be more forthcoming with the relationship advice.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to snap at her about the label, but the part of him that appreciated her silent support kept it in check. Rochelle appeared to be the logic of their group. It was also nice to know he could keep trusting her. He’d thought—wrongly now, he realized—that he and Rochelle would never get over their antagonism. He’d thought that she was always going to have a problem with him. That seemed to have ended once he’d stopped acting like a problem, though.

Nick knew he wasn’t a good guy. He got that. He complained, and swore, and swindled people, and had done much worse in his life besides. He didn’t trust or care easily. He had all the reasons and insecurities to be that way, but that didn’t mean he had to push it on the people helping him stay alive. The people relying on him.

He’d felt the change in their group’s dynamic, felt it beginning in Rayford and then solidifying during their road trip. He’d known Coach had felt it, too. He could pinpoint all the compliments and moments of appreciation as evidence in his mind. That’s why he knew that their leader’s reasoning was more than his thinly veiled excuse of mistrust. There was no doubt in his mind he was worried about Ellis and his feelings, but the reality was if Nick had been named Zoey and had wanted to relieve some tension the ex-footballer wouldn’t have said a goddamn thing.

He’d never cared about people’s opinions concerning where he stuck his dick. And he didn’t think Coach was suddenly going to stab him in the back and leave him to bleed out or anything. At the very least, the older man’s denial earlier meant his revulsion was internalized. But that just meant the words of wisdom he was currently spouting to Ellis were unintentionally laced with his own homophobia. Not exactly what the kid needed right now.

Nick wasn’t so sure he could give him what he needed now, either, but _wants_? Wants he could do. Wants just depended on Ellis.

Coach’s heavy footfalls took the ladder to the upper deck and he took that as his sign to attempt damage control. He gathered up the food he’d taken and headed out, feeling like there was lead in both his stomach and legs.

Ellis was sitting against one of the deck’s corners, tattooed arm propped on one of its walls. He’d been staring out at the water but the moment he’d heard the door his head had turned. He watched the northerner take a few steps out, a noticeable crease between his brows. It looked like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure if he could. Nick didn’t like that.

He cast a glance back over his shoulder, to where the captain’s deck was. He had to move forward a bit, due to the stepped architecture of the boat’s living areas, but when the angle was favorable he could make out Coach’s form in the darkened windows. He looked back to Ellis to see if he was aware to find his head tilted up, too. Then his eyes fell back on Nick, his expression hardened, and he turn quickly back to the water.

So, already off to a bad start. He wondered if Ellis thought he was going to cower just because they were being watched. Or if, in his checking to see if they were really going to be left alone, he’d been mistaken for conceding. Fat chance, but he wasn’t sure where the young man’s head was at.

Ellis had a leg drawn up against his chest, the other kicked out in front of him and resting heavy on the deck. Nick crossed over and toed at his thigh to get his attention. Before the mechanic could look up, though, he dropped one of the granola bars onto his lap. Ellis lowered his other leg to pick it up.

“Think fast,” Nick advised as he tossed the other one against the logo on that yellow shirt.

The bassist fumbled with the snack but managed not to drop it. He looked between them in his hands and then to Nick when the card shark sat next to him. He was going to rest against the little wall like the man beside him, but at the last moment remembered his back and rolled his eyes at Ellis dramatically. It got a smile, at least.

“Figured you’d eat the chocolate ones,” he said. “Not that you need sugar pumped into your system.”

Ellis chuffed. “Thought we weren’t takin’ any food?”

“It’s not technically lying if I didn’t agree to it. Besides, we’re gonna need the energy for New Orleans.”

The mechanic tilted his head to him. “Because’a the zombies or because’a Coach?”

Nick laughed and let the grin stay on his face to match the southerner’s. “A big _both_.”

Ellis’ smile morphed into one of the ones that pulled at his cheeks. It usually squinted his eyes, too, but not this time. He looked briefly at his lap and then up again, just high enough for those baby blues to be visible under the bill of his hat.

The conman looked out towards the shore and watched it go by for a few seconds. “Look, uh…” He could see those eyes on him in his peripheral, could feel the gaze somehow weighing down his tongue. He licked his bottom lip just to make sure it still worked. He wasn’t exactly sure why it had been easier to talk when they’d been screwing around. Though, with that in mind, he couldn’t help but ask: “Jesus… did you see a lock or anything on that door?”

The hick gave an embarrassed little huff. “I mean… I don’t really remember. I was pretty preoccupied.”

Nick laughed again. “Yeah, me too.” The humor made it easier. The fact that their banter hadn’t lost a beat helped unstick his tongue. He’d need it because when he turned his smile on his teammate he was given one in turn. This one, though, was patient and hopeful. One that reached the skin around the eyes searching Nick’s face.

It was a dangerous smile.

“So,” he tried again, failed, lolled his head back to see if what he’d wanted to say was written in the sky. It wasn’t, so he asked something else he’d been wondering. “Rochelle making fun of you, too, or is that just me?”

“Uh…well, not really, so I’m hopin’ that’s juss you ‘cause I considered throwin’ myself overboard.” His thumb fiddled with the packaging of a granola bar. “…What’d Coach say?”

Nick watched his hands. “You know what he said.”

The mechanic sucked in a breath and lifted his head. “And?”

“And,” the older man drawled, “I’m pissed off.”

Ellis let the air go with a relieved expression. “Me, too.”

Nick rolled his head to the side to look at him. “But…” And at that word the relief dissolved away, his eyes squinted in guarded doubt, and his eyebrows upturned in what he knew to be hurt. “_But_,” he repeated, “I get where he’s coming from.”

The southerner snorted and turned his face away. It made the tendons in his neck pull nicely. Made the pink marks sucked there and along his jaw easy to see in the light. Ellis started shaking his head at the water and Nick watched the way everything flexed.

“Are you going to listen to me?” the older survivor asked.

The mechanic rolled his shoulder in a dismissive half-shrug. “Why? So y’kin tell me Coach is right?”

“No,” he denied immediately, leaning forward so that he was in the kid’s peripheral, “because he’s not fucking right.”

Ellis’ eye darted to him, but then he tilted his head down to hide his pout.

Nick sighed. “Can you take off your hat?”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

His teammate obliged him, shaking out his hair like he always did once its covering was off. He put it in his lap and placed the two granola bars inside it. Nick had to keep leaning forward until finally the other man humored him by turning his face.

He straightened back up and held his eyes. “I said I get where he’s coming from.”

“Yeah, well,” Ellis said, voice loaded with vitriol, “that means you agree with him ‘bout somethin’.” The pout was still heavy over his lips and his eyebrows were pinched and weighted with ire.

For some reason, Nick was delighted by his response and he couldn’t stop the way his own eyebrows shot up in surprise nor the upturn of his mouth.

The younger man tapped his hat against his own lap for lack of a better way to show his irritation. “Why’re y’smilin’?”

The card shark turned his entire body to face him, propping one elbow on the wall behind him and the other on his bent knee. “I’m sorry, alright?” Though he did nothing to contain his chuckle. “I just haven’t seen you get this worked up since the car.”

The curve of his upper eyelids relaxed in shock, rounding his features. His irises darted about aimlessly as if an excuse was zipping through the air as fast as one of those goddamn swamp mosquitos. The northerner felt off-kilter, too, suddenly. Time to get back on track, then.

“I get where he’s coming from,” Nick explained slowly, “because it’s about you.” He motioned to the smaller man’s chest unnecessarily with his hand.

“What d’ya mean?

The conman puffed out some air, wishing he’d had a smoke for this because he knew what he had to say wasn’t going to be taken well. “…Because you’re the youngest and…”

Ellis gave him an unimpressed look.

“_And_,” Nick drew the word out. “I know you aren’t a child, Ellis, but you do act like you’re invincible.”

He looked a little rueful at that. “…We been okay so far.”

“_Barely_.”

The hick sat up straight and turned so that he, too, was facing his partner straight on. “That’s why we watch each other’s backs.”

“Great, now that you’ve contributed to my point. He’s in dad mode for you and Rochelle—_you _especially.” There was a tug inside him, a cruel, vindictive voice banging on the back of his teeth to share the underlying truth of it. A day or two ago he would’ve spit it out without a thought. For the younger man’s sake, he swallowed it. “And he made a good point in all of the bullshit. _One_. Singular. Just so we’re clear.”

Ellis’ big lips were pressed thin and he was trying hard to keep the remainder of his face neutral. He wanted to argue, but he was holding it in, most likely because he thought if he didn’t he’d be proving Coach right about his age.

Nick struggled for a way to phrase what needed to be said. He settled on the one that gave their leader the least credit. “He’s not wrong when he says I didn’t think this through.” He ran a hand through his hair, realizing in the process that he’d left his rings in the bathroom in his rush. He felt off-kilter without them.

The mechanic didn’t help, practically kicking Nick’s legs out from under him when he laughed. It was a breathy, obviously relieved sound. “Shit, Nick. That all?” He leant closer now that he could see the wall Coach had tried to build between them was crumbling. “Don’t think either of us did.”

The older man chuffed, even more amused when Ellis purposely looked over his shoulder towards the upper cabin before moving even closer.

“Nick.” He moved the hat out of his lap. “I mean, stuff happens, right? Y’know, like _zombies_, for example. Nobody expected them an’ they damn near destroyed half the country already. Hell, I didn’t expect’ta come out in the middle of the apocalypse… but it happened, it all happened, an’ there ain’t no goin’ back.” He nodded, mostly to himself, then said, slow and enunciated: “I don’t want to.” He looked up from where he’d put the hat to gauge the older man’s reaction.

Whatever he saw there convinced him to continue.

“Besides,” and he sounded almost confident, “I don’t want—…” Here he motioned vaguely between them.

“This to stop?”

“Yeah,” the younger survivor breathed, smiling _again_.

Nick smirked back. “I don’t blame you. The sex was great.”

Ellis gave a startled, but quiet laugh. He tried to tuck his face down, and the gambler was glad he took off the hat just to see how flustered he got from a sentence. “Yeah…it was.” The flush hadn’t gone when he looked back up, but he seemed to want to imitate Nick’s comfort regarding what they’d done in that bedroom. And why not? He hadn’t been lying. It _had_ been great.

The mechanic’s eyes dropped to Nick’s lips.

“Don’t do that,” the bigger man said, quick but gentle.

“Do what?” Ellis’s smile went sly and he did it again. Then he started leaning in.

Nick put his palm to his collarbone and held him back. A firm hand retaliated by stopping his wrist from moving away. With nowhere to go his thumb decided to follow the path of bone underneath it. “You’re gonna get my teeth knocked in.”

His teammate leant heavily into his touch. “I won’t let’im,” he promised.

“Oh, really? Gonna protect me?” It was corny as hell, though he supposed that’s what he should have expected from someone like Ellis. Besides, he didn’t actually think things were going to get physical again. Still was nice to have someone on his side, though.

“Yep.”

Nick had to hold him back again. “What’s this all of a sudden? You couldn’t even string a sentence together in there.” He canted his head at the cabin.

That blush renewed. “Y’made it kinda hard.”

“_Twice_.”

“Nick!” Ellis sagged into his hand, and since the conman didn’t want to hold him up anymore, he let him close the distance and drop his forehead onto his shoulder. “C’mon. Y’know what I mean.”

His hand was in an uncomfortable position now, so he slid it back along Ellis’ shoulder and rubbed the muscle underneath. The callused fingers that had been wrapped around his wrist moved, too, circling and drifting along his forearm. A few seconds of it was too warming, too much like what he’d been warned against. Too much like what he needed to avoid.

Those weren’t the only sirens going off in his head, though. Ellis’ words and_ intimacy_ settled over him wrong, sank down through his skin and burrowed. He sighed heavily, groaning by the end of it, and pushed the younger man back. “Ellis.”

He went easily. “Yeah?”

He needed to set the boundaries he’d thought about before. He needed to stifle Ellis’ growing feelings that he could see and feel in every movement and word. He needed to say those things, even though the hick wanted their fling to continue. Even though he was ready to butt heads with Coach over it. Even though.

But, damn him, what he said instead was: “I just need to know one thing.”

“Sure,” Ellis said, readily.

“You said I made it hard. Coach said I was pressuring you.” He made sure to make eye contact. _Did I overwhelm you? Take advantage? Make you feel like you couldn’t fucking say no? Where’s your head at? _“Did you feel like you had control?”

The mechanic swallowed, but he seemed more nervous for himself than his fellow survivor. “Honestly?”

It was hard to curb his gut instinct which insisted he respond with sarcasm. “Yes.”

“Not all the time?”

It was Nick’s turn to swallow. _Fucking shit._

Ellis’ gaze dropped to where he’d sucked a bruise into the older man’s neck. “But, I mean, I _liked_ that.”

“Liked what?”

“You tellin’ me… Are y’makin’ me say embarrassin’ shit’ta stroke yer ego?”

“You say embarrassing shit all the time, I didn’t think it was gonna be such an ordeal.”

The features of the tired, bruised, young face in front of him slackened in impatience. “Nick, y’said itchyerself: Coach ain’t right. Hell, man, y’asked me every step’a the way.”

Nick searched his face. “Needed to make sure. Between you and me.”

The southerner liked the sound of that because he pushed forward with a kiss. Nick knew he shouldn’t respond, but he did anyway. When he pulled the curly hair to detach the smaller survivor, he was amused to no end to see Ellis’ eyes flit over his shoulder and hold on what he knew to be Coach’s shadow, still standing in that window.

He gripped the other man’s strong jawline in free his hand. Then he complimented him: “You little shit.”

“What?” He asked, innocently. “Juss checkin’.”

“Let’s not antagonize the guy who can throw me overboard, okay?” He released him and gave one of his cheeks a playful slap before shifting back. He reached down to open a granola bar, completely unsurprised when Ellis’ shoulder pressed up against his. He ate half before something occurred to him. “New Orleans is gonna be bad.” And he didn’t mean just because of Coach.

Ellis hummed in agreement around his own mouthful.

“I mean really bad. Worse than the shit we’ve had to deal with so far.”

“We survived a helicopter crash, Nick. I’m thinkin’ we’kin take on anythin’.”

He didn’t want to bring up Rayford. He knew why, but he wasn’t going to articulate it, even in his own head. Besides, it was what that Francis guy had said about the military that was swirling around his thoughts. He remembered it had made him instantly unsure with his group’s plan. Once the car had run out of gas and the helicopter had gone down, he’d had other things to focus on, but now that they were hours away from the city, that nagging feeling returned tenfold.

“Remember the biker?”

“Yeah, a’course. Rochelle’s boyfriend. How come we ain’t makin’ fun’a her for that anymore?”

“Because we’re the entertainment now, Overalls.” He glanced to him. “Remember what he said about the military? Those three ran for a reason.”

Ellis chewed, quiet and thoughtful as he watched the older man open his second snack. “Where else’re we gonna go?”

“Dunno,” Nick admitted. “Just think we need a backup plan in case things go to shit.”

“Y’think we should go off on our own like they did?” The hick crinkled the metallic wrapping in his fist. “We’re awesome an’ everythin’, but I dunno if we’kin keep runnin’ forever. Shit, _they_ lost a guy doin’ it.” Here his face went solemn. “I ain’t losin’ any’uv y’all.”

The gambler knocked their elbows together. “Alright, don’t get all emotional.” Ellis knocked back, but the hypothetical scenario kept a smile from his face. “You’re probably right. Best to see it through.” Not that the words made it feel right.

“Juss gotta stick together,” the younger man repeated. “Always safer that way. Reminds me’a this one time, me’n Keith’n Dave got in a bar fight. This big dude Bobby—I mean like Coach size but fit, y’know—he straight up wanted’ta kill us.”

“All of you? Why?” Nick asked.

Ellis grinned and rubbed the side of his nose with his thumb. He’d obviously forgotten about the big, bruised cut over the bridge and the northerner winced in sympathy with him. “Well, Dave kinda stole his girlfriend. I mean, he hated us before that since like middle school ‘cause we egged his house a couple times—but it was mainly the girlfriend thing. Can’t say I blamed’im. Dave was the good-lookin’ one’a our group an’ he kinda left’a trail’a girls behind him.”

Nick stared at him blankly.

“So, a’course the guy’s lookin’ fer a fight an’ he’s got this other huge guy with’im. Then y’got me, Dave, who’s juss regular sized, an’ Keith, who’s big but most’a that’s juss beer.”

The conman smothered his laugh. He wasn’t exactly sure how to picture the smaller man’s friend other than as a giant, walking, oozing scab. Now he added a beer gut to the mental image.

“Now, mindjya, Dave ain’t much’uv a fighter. Me’n Keith’re pretty good in a scrap, though—I mean, you’ve seen me fight. That night, though, me’n Keith weren’t even gonna go to the bar, but we juss had a feelin’ that we were supposed’ta. Man was that a good idea ‘cause we were only in there for like, ten minutes at most when Bobby juss comes outta nowhere an’ hits Dave upside the head with a bottle. Now if that had been Keith, he probably would’a laughed it off, but Dave? Knocks him clear out on the bar. Luckily, me’n Keith were there’ta retaliate, but damn them guys punched _hard_, man. A’course now I realize it ain’t nothin’ compared’ta a Charger or Tank. So me’n Keith’re tryin’ta hold our own against these guys when _bam!_ Dave breaks a chair across Bobby’s back! He went down to the floor like’a sack’a bricks, man. I ain’t ever seen someone go down so fast and hard. His friend didn’t even know what’ta do. We had’ta haul ass an’ get outta there ‘cause the owner was callin’ the cops, but it was a damn good thing we went with Dave otherwise that guy would’a made it so he wasn’t so good-lookin’ no more.”

Absurdly amused, Nick wasn’t sure which part of the obviously embellished story to nitpick. He settled on the part he didn’t believe at all. “So, let me get something straight,” he said, not bothering to dial back the disbelief in his tone. “This Dave guy is the best looking of you three?” Had Ellis ever looked in a mirror in his fucking life?

“Yeah?” The hick tilted his head. “He’s one’a those pretty guys, y’know?”

“Purdier than you?” He mocked gently.

Ellis elbowed him hard and popped the remainder of his granola bar in his mouth. When he finished chewing, he stood and offered Nick a hand. The older man let himself be pulled up but raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Wanna go get some sleep before we gotta fight again,” Ellis explained.

He followed, giving a quick glance up to find that the big shadow in the window was moving, too. He didn’t really want to have another confrontation, but the redneck had the right idea and the exhaustion in his body was screaming at him to go along with it. Maybe their older member would be placated with the door being left open.

Rochelle was lying back down when they entered, but her head turned to them quick enough to indicate she hadn’t been dozing. They didn’t blame her for not rising.

“Everything okay?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” Nick answered. “You know how far out we are?”

“Not sure… maybe a couple hours?”

“Thass what I figured,” Ellis said. “Gonna try’ta get some sleep.”

The reporter let them go without a word. She just rolled onto her side so that her back was to their door. Regardless, they left it completely open even as they stripped down the pieces of their clothing that were too stiff to sleep in.

Nick ushered the younger man into the bed first and climbed in after, positioning on his side so that he was facing his teammate. It may not have been the best idea, because he could feel the weight of his gaze, so familiar now, on his face. When he opened his eyes, he was at least glad to see that Ellis was heavy lidded and turning boneless as he drifted off.

“Nick,” he whispered.

“Hm?”

“What’s yer last name?”

“Caruso,” he murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Italian.”

“Mine’s McKinney. It’s Irish.”

_No shit_. “Explains why a good southern boy like you’s a Catholic.”

Ellis didn’t respond, but his smile remained even in his sleep, so maybe he heard before his fatigue won out. Nick closed his eyes and listened to his breathing even. He listened to the cabin door opening. To the sound of heavy feet trying to be quiet. When he wasn’t yanked out of the bed again, he let himself drift off, too.

He woke to voices in the cabin. They weren’t loud, but it was probably a good thing that the smallest sounds could wake him out of an exhaustion coma considering how the world had gone to hell. A similar sound must have woken Ellis because the sheets were empty in front of him. They were warm to the touch, though, so the other man hadn’t been gone all that long.

Nick rose and dressed quickly, wincing at the rigid state of his pants as he pulled them back into place. When he finished buckling his belt, he moved into the doorway and put his forearm up against one side of it to hold up his weight.

Virgil was seated at the table with Rochelle. Coach was leaning his hip against the counter and Ellis was backed up against the only wall available to him.

“We can’t take all of your ammo,” their leader was saying.

“Y’won’t be takin’ all’uv it,” the old man said. “Juss a good amount. Yer gonna need it in N’Awlins. Ery-body tried’ta escape that way. Ain’t gonna make it very far without the bag.”

“That don’t leave you with much,” Ellis pointed out.

“Don’t expect’a leave this boat too much, young’un,” Virgil replied.

“You’re not coming with us?” Nick asked, drawing everyone’s attention.

The Cajun smiled and shook his head. “No, sir. Was a time I might’a gone witchy’all but that time’s ‘bout twenty years gone.” He leant forward and put his elbows on the table. “I’d only slow y’all down.”

It was a good point. Even if he did come, they wouldn’t be able to protect him for long. Either choice—staying or tagging along—it was all going to end the same. The latter option also had the potential of getting the rest of them killed.

“Best thing I’kin do,” Virgil continued, “is try’n find some other folks to help like I helped y’all. Best thing y’all kin do is take this here ammo bag. Yer goin’ inta a war zone.”

“Ain’t right,” Ellis tried to protest again.

“Wish there was somethin’ we could do for ya,” Coach said earnestly.

“There is,” the old guy assured. “Y’take the bag without arguin’ an’ y’find the military. Y’give ‘em some notion of my wherebouts, y’hear? Maybe we’ll meet again.” With that said, he shimmied out of the booth and stood, stretching his back. He gave the eldest survivor a pat on the shoulder as he made for the door. “Y’all ready?”

Coach looked from his face to those of his teammates, one by one.

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Rochelle encouraged. “Thanks for everything, Virgil.”

“Yer welcome, ma chère.” He gave one last glance over his shoulder. “Gonna find some place’ta dock. Y’all gear up.” Then he slipped out.

They listened to him, reattaching their holsters, reloading guns, and preparing the gun bag in silence. It had perturbed Nick that they hadn’t woken him earlier, but now he was a little grateful he hadn’t been exposed to the full brunt of guilt his teammates were still exuding. He could understand it—he was grateful to the boat captain and there was no doubt in his mind they’d be dead without him… But the man was making his choice, and there was too much weighing upon their shoulders for them to act like it was their fault.

Though, he _did_ feel like a schmuck for the mess they’d made of his bed.

On deck they decided that Coach would carry the bag, and considering his back wasn’t scratched to hell and had more room than anyone else’s, Nick wasn’t going to argue. With the extra ammo they stood a chance, and they were going to need all of the chances they could get looking at the skyline ahead of them. It was similar to how it had been in Savannah: smoke and destruction. Not even the water was safe here, evident by the multiple boats half-submerged near their landing spot.

Nick had been to New Orleans a few times and he could tell, even from the water, that it was a shell of its former self. He remembered bright colors, drunk and happy people, and loud music. Now he knew the streets would only be filled with smears of blood, dismembered body parts, and the screams of monsters.

Coach glanced over his shoulder at them. When Nick looked back, he spoke. “We been through hell’ta get here, people. I’m proud’a ya, but we need’ta focus if we’re gonna make it.” He didn’t want a response because he stepped carefully from the boat to the waterfront. Ellis followed, putting a firm boot on the line of old tires used to protect boats from scraping the concrete. Once both of his feet were on the ground, he reached back to help Rochelle across.

The gambler spared one more glance up at the cabin and then hopped across after his friends.

“Y’all’kin make it from here,” Virgil’s voice assured them over his speakers. “God be with y’all. Good luck!”

“Stay safe, brother,” Coach murmured after the boat.

“That Virgil is a goddamn hero, going back there when we are so close,” Ellis said.

Rochelle turned from watching the shape disappear on the river to their path ahead. It was a simple plank with handrails going up, but at the top there were fences with barbed wire and angry signs slapped onto their links. There was even one directly next to them which she approached first.

“Looks like they were evacuating people in groups.” She turned and nodded to the wall before them where a map had been plastered for new arrivals. She crossed to it, looked it over and then pressed her finger to the paper. “There were a few evacuation points…but it seems like they all lead to this bridge.”

Nick stepped by her, curious about the first sign. The groups she mentioned had been assigned by the military and denoted by colored wrist bands. The rules were written clearly: give up all weapons, walk along like cattle in a line, and keep your hands up. _Use of deadly force authorized. _So, how had they decided the method of separation for their groupings? And just how long ago did their precautionary measures fail?

He felt his stomach sink right into his ruined dress shoes.

“Then that’s where we need’ta go,” Coach told them. “We’ve only got a bit further.” He was going to go into some kind of motivational speech, which Nick was going to completely ignore, but the shrieking sound of a jet engine’s exhaust ripping the air above them startled the words right out of the former footballer.

A second jet passed after the first and Nick felt the quake of it in his spine.

“Jets!” Ellis exclaimed.

“Good observation, Ellis.”

“Jets mean the military’s still here!” Coach announced.

The northerner wondered if that was a good thing. “You don’t evacuate people in fighter jets,” he informed them, letting his doubt color his voice.

“Let’s get moving,” their leader said, ignoring him. He lifted his shotgun and led the way up the ramp before them to move into the city proper.

Rochelle followed and Nick nodded their youngest member on when he glanced back at him. The signs at the top reminded people that they were entering a military zone and to stay in their groups. It reminded them that they’d be shot for ignoring orders.

Nick was suddenly grateful for all the shit that had delayed them. If they had gotten here with all the others, they would have been corralled into a line and made to wait around until the zombies had dropped down on their heads. They would’ve ended up defenseless and listless. They would’ve been separated and powerless.

The dread in his chest reminded him that they might still be heading towards those things.

There was an opening between the fences leading to a street that had been almost completely sectioned off. At one time there had been a seafood restaurant there, a bar, and other fitting businesses for waterfront property. Now they were all boarded up, their outer walls decorated with blood and indiscernible splatters of gore. As for the street itself, where there weren’t splotches of red, there were corpses. Where there weren’t corpses, there were zombies.

Forcing all those survivors together may have been the only way to rescue some, but it hadn’t worked out so well for the majority. By the looks of it, there hadn’t been enough time before the infection had hit and started turning people. He could only imagine the horrified betrayal they must have felt. Hell, he felt it for them. They’d trusted the military and found themselves defenseless in the face of their deaths. Now, they shambled around, wristbands vibrant against their gray skin, eyes vacant until they could find something to attack. His group must have been the first living things they’d seen in a while.

He and his friends raised their weapons and put them all down. Some of the gunfire brought in more from behind a green, solid fence with a singular entrance. Ellis poked his head around the opening, though just as soon as he’d done it he was jerking back, shoulders smacking into the conman’s chest.

“What?” Nick steadied him.

“There’s a lot of ‘em,” he reported, voice hushed. “Like… _a lot_.”

Rochelle looked to the bag they’d been given. “What do we have left?”

“Two mollies and two pipe bombs,” Coach answered. “Figure we’ll find more as we go since the army’s all over this place.”

“Gonna need one’a them pipe bombs,” the mechanic affirmed, “but we’re still gonna have a lot’ta shoot.”

He wasn’t wrong. The blast cleared a good number of them, sure, but the ones on the outskirts of its radius only lost chunks of skin but nothing vital enough to kill them. Those were the first ones to come for their group as they moved through the barrier. Their blood slogged heavily from lost limbs and the gaping holes sustained from flying shrapnel, giving each of their steps a sickening sloshing sound.

Behind them, outside of the radius completely, were the ‘lot’ Ellis had been talking about. The street was packed with them, like a goddamn zombie parade. And when they put down the first wave another would follow, and then another, and another until the pile in front of them grew enough to trip some of the runners and forced all the rest to scramble and climb to get at the survivors.

Once the threat was managed, though not entirely finished if the loiterers all the way at the end of the street were any indication, they could take a moment to assess their surroundings.

And Nick’s assessment was that the whole military operation had been a shitshow.

All the zombies had wristbands, so they’d been under the protection of the army. A lot of fucking good that had done for them. There were fences to the right, so these formerly-alive people had obviously been in a queue here.

There was a truck blocking the street, as well as a van, and as they walked around them, they discovered a bus was clogging the area, too. It, and the car it had rammed into, had been the cause of the congestion. The driver of the car had been speeding in a panic, if the jagged, body-sized hole in his windshield was anything to judge by. If not, the blood smear his unnaturally contorted corpse had left was testament enough.

None of them said anything as they walked over it, which spoke volumes about how accustomed his three teammates had come to violence and death. Killing zombies was one thing but seeing all these people who might have made it but failed through no fault of their own was supposed to rankle something in them.

As for him, he should’ve been thinking better them than him. What he was thinking was that it soon _would_ be him.

He caught Ellis looking at the bodies they put down as they came to the bend in the street. When he looked up though, he was immediately distracted by the building to the right. “Look, there’s a café! Maybe we’kin make some more mollies?”

He hadn’t noticed the wristbands, the gambler decided. He didn’t know what was going on.

They followed him into the shop, a small corner place stripped of its doors with only a few skeletal tables and a juke box remaining inside. Ellis went to the latter first. Nick went towards the counter.

“Don’t be turnin’ that on,” their leader directed.

Their youngest member took the comment in stride, nodding his head as he continued to peruse the song list. Rochelle leant against the bar and watched Nick look through the scarce bottles of alcohol to see if they’d be useful. They weren’t; they’d need to find an intact bar, though he assumed they’d all been stripped clean at this point.

“Don’t suppose there’s anything left for us to drink?” Rochelle asked once she realized he was coming up empty handed.

Nick was impressed. “Shouldn’t that be _my_ line?”

“Probably for the best,” Coach interjected, but the card shark had already ducked into the backdoor. When he emerged, he set down a cold six pack he’d found in the storage fridge. It was a brand he’d never have chosen before, but at this point he couldn’t really be picky, now could he?

He popped the cap off one and offered it to Rochelle. Their eldest member looked unimpressed, but she didn’t seem to care about his opinion on the matter anyway and gratefully took the drink.

He cracked open two more and put one in the hick’s waiting hand. Ellis grinned and clinked his bottle against the Ohioan’s first and then leant over to do it with Nick’s before sucking down a large mouthful.

At that, even Coach broke down.

Ellis smiled, something sweet and wistful as he looked to the brown glass. “We gotta do this the right way, when there’s no zombies, I mean. After we make it outta this I’ll treat y’all’ta a real drink.”

Obviously charmed, Rochelle gave him a nudge. “I’ll buy dinner.”

Nick took a long sip and tried not to think on the hypothetical. Tried to block out the way his mind whispered it was never going to happen.

“Guess I’ll get the dessert,” Coach offered up with his own smile.

“Means Nick’s the designated driver,” Ellis announced.

“Like hell.” He’d get round two, if it ever came.

Their way ahead led them through an alley into a garden plot. The infected were fewer here, which made it easy to spot and shoot the Boomer that tried to rush them from the back exit of the restaurant. The building was disappointingly empty inside, save for a few frying pans.

Nick considered taking one for the hell of it, considering he’d unknowingly left his machete behind. He ended up leaving it though since he had no way to attach it to his body. After that he spared one last ducking look into the back room. There were only freezers, shelves, and a single corpse of a young woman in the corner. Her bare legs were drawn up, there was a handgun beside her, and a bullet hole in her head.

He was glad nobody checked after him.

The street ahead was another problem. The front of the restaurant was barren, its doors and windows destroyed or torn out. It made them plainly visible to the packed crowd of zombies waiting for them. And it _was_ another crowd; somehow more bodies were smashed together than the previous street. Several were fighting, more were falling, and the majority were turning on them.

The only plus side was the safe house sign with a pointing arrow on the blank wall next to the exit.

“Hol-ee shit,” Ellis spoke for them all.

There was no other choice but to throw their remaining pipe bomb and clear out a path. There were two shitty things about that, though. One: there was no way the little bomb was going to clear out all the angry infected in their way. It would, at least, diminish the number they had to face and conserve ammo.

Number two, though, that was the real kicker.

Two: when it went off, blasting figures to paste and meat, it also revealed the car that had been hidden from their view. Not that they needed to see it because once the shockwave hit its alarm shrieked, as if mocking their hubris.

The zombies joined in with their own rallying cry.

“God dammit, it’s getting good!” Nick snarked, raising his gun.

“Run for the safe house!” Coach ordered.

They tried to listen, but it was hard when they had to shoot and clear a path so that they _could_ run. Add to that the sound of a Spitter hocking her neon acid and a Jockey looking for a good ride. Needless to say, it was no sprint to the finish line.

Pressed up to the outer wall of the safehouse, effectively bisecting it, was yet another fence. It was hard to see what was beyond it because of the zombies scaling its links. It was pretty obvious they wouldn’t find out, either. With every second that passed more and more bodies piled up against it, drawn by the sound of gunfire and yelling. The meshed metal bulged outward against their weight.

Ultimately, it proved to be too much, and the metal crashed down just as the last of their team hurried up the stairs and into the safehouse.

Nick and Coach yanked the door shut together, chopping off a diseased arm in the process. It slapped wetly to the floor and the two couldn’t help but laugh at the sound. It stopped being funny, though, when more zombies shoved up against both metal barriers, blocking either exit.

The first thing they spotted to shove up against at least one of them was an empty rack and then an equally empty vending machine. The two eldest had to put their shoulders into it to move it into place, but at least that minimized the entrances through which they could get swarmed. The other door seemed to be holding well enough with the bar for the time being.

From its little window, zombies snarled at the survivors, their ashen faces and arms shoved through the open bars and slashing at the air.

“Shit,” Ellis said. “How’re we gonna get outta here? There’s way too many of ‘em.”

Coach looked around. “These safe rooms were set up by the military. Gotta be weapons and supplies left behind.”

And he wasn’t wrong. The safehouse had originally been a small convenience store by the looks of its nearly barren shelves. There was also a cash register, open and devoid of any paper bills to his disappointment. Beside it were a couple of handguns. Lying in a corner on the floor nearby was a mound of ammo and a first aid kit.

On the shelves were some opened boxes of crappy cereal, breakfast bars, some canned food, and, miraculously, a pack of cigarettes. If he was naïve, he would’ve felt hopeful at that. He would’ve taken finding a bottle of beer and a smoke within a block of each other in the goddamn apocalypse as a sign. But he wasn’t and this was only a sign that he should open the pack and suck one down because he had a hunch there wouldn’t be anything good waiting for them the _next _block over.

Nick scooped up the cigarettes and all but tore the packaging off, stepping away from where his teammates were searching the rest of the looted shop. There was a stairway directly across from the door and so he sat there, feeling his nerves start to calm as he proceeded through the familiar motions of his addiction. Even the noise of the infected trying so hard to grab him couldn’t deafen the sound the pack made when he smacked it against his palm. It was one of the most soothing things he’d heard in days.

If he didn’t count the way Ellis’ breath had evened out in his sleep.

Not wanting to dwell on that, he tapped one of the sticks out, taking it between his lips. He shoved the rest of the pack into his pocket and withdrew his lighter from the opposite. Now, the fact that his lighter had made it through this nightmare when he hadn’t given it a thought outside of lighting Molotovs? That might have been a sign.

He flicked the cap off and sparked the flame, cupping it within his hand to ignite the cigarette. When he heard it catch, he twisted his wrist, closing his lighter back up so he could shove it away. Meanwhile, he gave two small puffs to keep the burn going before steadying the stick between his fingers.

With it held there, he inhaled until his lungs ached from the expansion. Instantaneously he felt the nicotine do its job, relaxing his body and calming his frazzled thoughts. He withdrew the cig from his mouth and pressed the heel of his thumb to his forehead, eyes closed as he exhaled slowly, feeling the smoke billow out around his wrist.

Fuck, he really must’ve been fearing for his life to have thought about the little cancer-sticks so infrequently. He smiled wryly to himself and took another drag, letting it out from between both his lips and nostrils.

“Think this is the time for that?” Coach asked, his voice invading the moment of respite.

Nick opened his eyes to regard him. Then he regarded the door in front of him. He directed a nod at it. “Yeah. Think we got a bit before Scarecrow finds us a way out of here.”

Coach gave a disdainful little sniff. It was something he’d bestowed upon the gambler several times before so the impact he’d meant felt by it was lessened.

They held their eye contact a beat longer before the older man walked away to resume restocking. Nick would follow in a minute, but for now, he put the cigarette back in his mouth and drew in another deep inhale. He let it out at the corners of his mouth this time, savoring the taste of menthol.

When he opened eyes he hadn’t realized had closed again, he looked to the zombies at the door. They were still reaching for him as feverishly as they had been before, but now he wasn’t nearly as stressed about it. How could he be with nicotine racing along his veins?

Nick rose to his feet, stepping forward so that he was just out of their range. At his hip he flicked his cigarette between his fingers, dislodging the ash that had accrued at its tip. When he raised it to his lips again, he zeroed in on the zombie in the middle. There was blood running down her cheeks from her eyes, something he’d seen in several of the infected. It wasn’t something he’d given thought to; something he wasn’t going to anytime soon.

Her lips were curled back, revealing teeth covered with dark gore. Every now and then she would gnash them together, growl or screech from between them.

Tilting his head, Nick took another slow, relaxing drag. Then, just as slowly, he blew it out in her face.

To his surprise, the infected coughed.

Putting one hand in his pocket, he did it again, this time spreading the smoke between the three faces smashed up against the bars. They all coughed, and he figured that made sense. They weren’t dead in the way the zombies from the movies usually were. Them being infected meant they were dead in all the ways that mattered, sure, just not the technical one. Made sense they’d still need to use their lungs.

Apparently one of them had really disliked cigarettes in his former life, because he jerked back suddenly and then puked black tar all down his front.

Nick wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or entertained.

“Havin’ fun?”

The heavy accent that roused him from his revelry was far more welcome than the earlier interruption. The smile on those plump lips was even more so.

“Mm,” he agreed through another drag. He blew the smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from the mechanic whose face was a bit wrinkled. “Feels therapeutic.”

The smaller man offered up a little chuckle and a smile, even if he didn’t look much like he believed him.

Nick took another inhale and flicked the ash away again. He exhaled the tobacco clouds out of his nose this time and held the cigarette out as an offering. “Wanna try?”

Ellis’ forehead creased briefly. Then it smoothed and one of those sharp eyebrows arched. The corner of his lips quirked as he looked from the stick to Nick’s eyes. There was something enthralling in his gaze.

“Not even from between _yer _fingers, Nick,” he said, provocative and cocky.

The conman gaped at him as he turned on his heel to rejoin their teammates. His steps were unhurried so that he could glance back over his shoulder at the other man, so that he could give a shrewd little smirk. It cracked at the last second into one of his telltale grins that he tried to hide by crouching near the ammo pile.

Nick leant on the railing next to him and brought the cigarette to his mouth again. When he exhaled this time it was around an impressed little laugh, ushered out of him by a fondness that welled up so suddenly—too suddenly—from the bottom of his chest.

Ellis stole another glance at him, smile lessened but still creasing his face in pride. _Little shit_, the northerner thought. As if hearing his thoughts, the bassist’s cheekbones tinted and he ducked his head, sorting through the boxes of ammo and nodding along again with whatever the reporter was saying to him. He guaranteed there was no way he knew what was being said—Rochelle could’ve been talking about how much of an asshole Jimmy Gibbs Jr. was for all his attention was on her.

Suited Nick fine. He liked the other man’s growing comfort. And he _really _liked the audacity of it in front of Coach’s attentive gaze.

The ex con smirked to himself and finished his smoke, tempted to extinguish it against a zombie arm but the possibility of getting grabbed influenced him enough to stamp it out under the toe of his shoe instead.

He joined the others then, crouching in the open spot between Ro and Ellis to gather up his own ammunition. There was a feeling of ease settled throughout him, amplified by the presence of Ellis beside him whose energy he could feel pouring off him in waves. Confidence in measure and a readiness to go out and face the world so that he might get his friends to safety.

It almost felt like it was seeping in through the sparseness between their shoulders. It almost felt like Nick could run off it, too.

Until he looked up and saw the wall.

The graffiti depicted a conversation, like so many they’d seen before. This one, though, this wasn’t people leaving messages for their loved ones. This wasn’t people bickering about missing the internet. This was about the military.

This was about exactly what had sparked his dread the moment they’d landed in the city: separating people. But here he learned the reason why.

_Carriers._

He stared at the word. Carriers? Like Typhoid Mary or something?

So, there were people who could catch the infection, survive it, but still carry it with them. No wonder it had taken so long for the military to catalogue the survivors. A blood test would be the only way to know for sure, right?

The words sunk in and the writing seemed to move before his eyes, the ink running like so much blood down the wall.

Any one of them could be carriers.

Coach’s voice interrupted his growing anxiety: “Street’s packed. Any ideas, y’all?” He crossed his arms in front of him. “Remember, we got two mollies.”

Ellis turned in his squat and looked behind him. “Don’t think we’re gonna be able to open the door far enough’ta throw one… might end up setting this place on fire.” He looked back to the others, thoughtful.

“What about upstairs?” the gambler asked, surprised his numb lips could move. “Stairway wasn’t barricaded… don’t know about the door up top, though.”

“Worth a shot,” the hick said. “If we’kin climb out a window up there maybe we’kin avoid the whole crowd… or drop the mollie down on ‘em from above and clear ‘em out. Reckon we don’t want them followin’ us, right?”

“Right,” the reporter said with a smile. “Let’s go check the door.”

What could he do but follow? Without any proof what could he even say to the others? They most likely had already read the wall and given it little thought, so could he dwell on it any longer in the face of more immediate issues?

Up top the door had been barricaded from the other side. It was a bit amusing to see their youngest member try to put his shoulder into it and come away rubbing the sore muscle.

“Any idea what’s blocking it?” Ro asked him.

Ellis shook his head. “Feels like cement.”

Their leader put his hand on the wood and gave it a push. It gave about as much as it had for the other southerner. “Thinkin’ it’s some furniture.” He gently moved his teammates out of the way and set his shoulder against one side of the door. “Nick, gimme some help.”

“Wha—I’kin do it,” the mechanic protested, as if his virility were on the line or something.

“Need Nick’s weight.”

“Easy there, tons of fun,” Nick ribbed. He leant in as asked though and when the count reached three, jammed his shoulder against the wood. It took them a few more rams to get it open—though it wasn’t a space he or Coach would be slipping through as it was.

The conman stepped out of the way, one hand on his shoulder and gritting his teeth against the irritation rippling across his wounded back. Rochelle stepped into his place.

“I think Ellis and I can slip through,” she said. And she was right. It was effortless thing for her lithe frame; all she had to do was turn sideways and she went in, gun first.

Ellis on the other hand, had to shimmy his way through, both his chest and ass getting stuck on the dresser that had been wedged up against the door. It wasn’t like he was without muscle so his upper chest being an issue wasn’t so surprising. His ass, though? Well, that was a very nice surprise.

Nick could almost feel the phantom weight and give of it from when he’d squeezed it between his fingers. He was kicking himself for not making the younger man turn over for him at least once so he could’ve _seen _it.

Might’ve turned him off, though, considering it had been his first sexual experience with a man.

Together their smaller teammates pushed the blockage out of the way, the sound of their effort rousing him from thoughts best saved for later. Nick went in, eyes instantly going to the numerous boarded windows lining the living room of this apartment. The ones they were facing led out into the backyard, while the ones behind would give them an overlook of the street they had just traversed. More interesting was the boarded-up sliding glass door to their left. There was a balcony out there which was their best bet for getting back to street level.

“Should still drop one’a those mollies,” Ellis said. “If we get out back an’ there’s more zombies we’ll open fire and attract ‘em all.”

So, that’s what they did. Together he and Ellis pried off a plank so that he could drop the flaming bottle down through the broken window onto the mass of zombies. The fire spread rapidly, sending the infected into a screaming, struggling frenzy. It worked to clear out enough of them that when they’d inevitably have to shoot again, they’d be able to face whatever stragglers were left at their back with ease.

They managed to break through the glass doorway, as well. The balcony itself was small, but its positioning couldn’t have been any better. It was situated above a cement partition, put up by the city to separate the apartment yard from the park they could see behind it. One by one they were able to heave themselves over the railing and lower their weight down until they were atop it. From there they hopped to the ground and continued into the park, killing zombies as they went.

As they walked it seemed more and more to Nick that the lush, open area was where the majority of the survivors had been corralled. It was no wonder in their zombification they’d wandered over to the adjacent street. There were still too many of them in the park which meant these people had to have been waiting, for hours or days at a time, on top of each other.

As open as the area was, it was intersected by a decorative hedge. Though at first he thought it a maze or something, when they made their way slowly through it the bushes opened up onto a central area. There, on a pedestal reaching up into the sky with the backdrop of the sun behind it, was a statue of Andrew Jackson on a horse. More important to him were the weapons and ammo lying on top of and beside a crate nearby.

Ellis, however, neared the statue and thumbed his hat back so he could get a better look. “Man, I wish we had a horse… I love horses.”

Nick looked up from reloading. “Ever eaten horse?” he asked because he couldn’t help it. “Tasty.”

The southerner turned on him like he’d insulted his mother. “Horses are for ridin’, not eatin’, Nick.”

They shared a quick grin and then the youngest survivor was tending to his weapons, too. They chose to go right out of the hedges, which led them to a public bathroom with two picnic tables in front of it. One of them had a pipe bomb atop it, but it didn’t seem worth it to Nick when they went to retrieve it and were overcome by an almost debilitating stench of urine and shit.

“Agh,” Rochelle bemoaned, raising her hand to cover her nose. “What is that?”

“Smells like people were livin’ here and shit,” Coach responded.

“Think they were,” the gambler murmured. But for how long?

There was sobbing from the path ahead of them, but when they exited the park the Witch was off to their right and they needed to go in the opposite direction so they left her to wander for the rest of her un-life. There was a railing here sectioning off a tented area with two med kits that they scooped up on their way through. Then they were slipping down an alley, putting down a particularly stupid Jockey who thought it could run right at them, and coming out beneath an underpass.

More railings sectioned off the area, undeniably for forcing survivors into different lines so that they could be scanned. There were several zombies walking around, their wrist bands bright amidst all the gore staining their bodies. They put most of them down easily save for three.

These three zombies had been police officers, decked out in protect riot gear. When they fired upon them, their bullets did practically nothing—though one lucky shot did get into the bend of one of their elbows thus blowing its forearm off.

“That zombie’s got armor,” Coach yelled, incensed. “I want armor!”

Turned out they had to shove them off, get them to spin around so that they could shoot their unprotected backs. When they finally fell with exposed spines it was upon the piles of bodies that had already been littering the street.

Another instance where it hadn’t gone well, then.

There was a cement partition nearby with some weapons on it. The guns were unfortunately, but understandably, empty. There were two nightsticks, though, so he scooped one up.

He gave it a practice swing. “I used to steal these from cops back in high school.” He shook off the thought, though he saw the interest on Ellis’ face.

He was distracted by it almost immediately when they came upon another pile of bodies. They were laid atop one another before what he assumed would have been the final checkpoint before rescue. The trailer ahead of them had CEDA printed on its side though, clearly, they’d been taken over by the military after their repeated failures. Just as before there were signs that warned about the use of deadly force.

And the military had used it. There were two mounds of dead bodies ahead of them and when Nick looked closer he immediately knew something was different. He spun back around to look at the dead they’d passed without a second glance—and yes, all around him it was the same: uninfected corpses riddled with bullet holes.

Understandably, it freaked him out. “Jesus! These are people! They were shooting people!” He looked to his teammates, noting how pallid they’d all become. So, they’d read the wall after all. “I _told_ you I had a bad feeling about this.”

Coach’s brows drew down over his dark eyes. “How’s it feel bein’ so _right_, Nick?”

“Not good,” he said, voice low.

“Shootin’ people?” Ellis asked quietly, dismayed once the trailer door had been secured behind them. “That ain’t right.”

“No shit and that’s what’s been going on,” the gambler said. He looked to Coach. “You guys saw the same graffiti I did. They were separating people they thought were carriers and _killing _them. What happens if one of us is a carrier?”

The reporter tightened her hands around her gun. “We came this far, Nick. Where else are we supposed to go?”

“Literally _anywhere _else.”

“We are going towards the military,” their leader restated.

Nick shook his head, laughing at the absurdity of it. “Are you even listening to me? Are you not seeing the same shit I’m seeing?” He wasn’t about to go and march himself and his friends up to a bunch of armed assholes, have a needle jammed in their arms, and potentially watch one or all of them put down with a single bullet between the eyes.

Before things could escalate Ellis stepped in and put a hand against the gambler’s chest. “If there’s a chance we are there’sa chance we ain’t, right?” He was pleading with his eyebrows. “We gotta try.” He’d said as much on the boat, but with all the evidence piling up before their eyes Nick wasn’t willing to be as nonchalant.

But there was also no way he was surviving this city on his own so that meant he had to shut up about it. “Don’t blame me if this goes to shit.”

The mechanic followed him to the little table. There were medical supplies, including a couple of adrenaline shots. Rochelle urged them all to take one, recognizing that they’d need everything they could get if they were going to make it through New Orleans alive. Nick tucked it away in his pocket and hoped it would stay there.

With his hand poised above the handle, the sign beside him gave him pause. “Oh, surprise, guys. Guess what’s gonna happen when I open this door?”

“Alarm?” Ro and Ellis asked in tandem.

“Just run for the tower.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Why we goin’ta the tower?”

“We run to the tower,” Nick said, exasperated, “and we shut off the alarm.”

“But, wait. We _are _goin’ it together, right?”

“_Of course_ we’re going it together.” He wasn’t letting Ellis out of arm’s reach if he could help it.

And he didn’t. He and the bassist led their group along as the alarm sounded like an amplified dinner bell for whatever infected were in earshot.

The area they had to traverse was divided by fences, at least fifteen feet tall and impossible for them to climb. They provided a bit of an obstacle for the zombies as well since it gave the survivors time to navigate the area and shoot the distracted targets right off the chain links. Naturally, too many were streaming over them, coming from behind them, coming from in front of them, that the tactic didn’t always work. Eventually they each had to pick a direction and lay covering fire as they sprinted.

There was the garbled cry of a Charger not too far off, but more immediate was the Spitter lumbering towards them. Nick was going to call it out, but her neck exploded in a burst of green and red before his lips could part. The sound of Ellis whooping rang in his ears, breathless as it was.

“_Nice shot_!” he couldn’t help but compliment as they ran around the melting corpse.

From there they had to scramble up a ladder. Nick shoved their two youngest up first, yelling at them to turn off the alarm before Coach forced him to follow. At the top he provided the cover the bigger man needed to make the climb, jolting when the Charger crashed into the ladder and brought it clattering down atop its own head just after he’d pulled him clear.

One of their two teammates had gotten the alarm, making it a bit easier to hear the screaming horde still converging on their position. They opted to stay on the tower and force the zombies to work for their kills. Worked wonders in funneling them, worked even better to put that Charger down since he was too big and too uncoordinated to do much but pound at the sandbags holding the scaffolding in place.

By the end of it they were dangerously low on ammo and out of combustibles since so many infected had poured out of the building nearby—a bus station, which explained how they’d been transporting people to the bridge. At the very least that meant the depot was empty as they walked through it and followed the signs into the next safe house.

There they lucked out. The army had been using it to store their extra weapons and ammo, so their group was able to restock and put some extra firepower across their backs. Ellis in particular did nothing to hide his mirth at having a shotgun of his own. The rest of them were excited for the box of incendiary ammo left behind. Coach tucked it away in their bag and led the way out.

There was a sign next to the door. ‘Safe Zone Ends Here.’

Nick scoffed. “If _that_ was their idea of safety, I can’t wait to see what’s out here.”

They were under another stretch of highway and it was clear the military hadn’t expanded their presence here. There were small campsites littered with bloody sleeping rolls around pathetic attempts at campfires. That meant that someone had been here, and they’d been hoping to be rescued through the backdoor. And they’d been denied.

They made it out into one of the city’s neighborhoods with its streets as congested and blocked as those that had come before. There was a bus blocking their path so they used the adjacent apartment building in order to climb over it. From there it felt like much of the same—they had to go through more apartments, a yard, fend off a Smoker and Boomer along the way, before they made their way into a dilapidated house.

Nick wasn’t fond of walking through closed quarters. They’d seemed to do better in the open where they could properly defend one another. Being inside diminished the danger of some of the mutated ones, but made them easy pray for a Spitter or Charger. The danger of Tanks or Witches cramped together with them didn’t need explanation.

They didn’t encounter the latter two in the house as they searched it. What they ended up finding disturbed him and his teammates a bit more. Someone had been holding out in an upstairs bedroom, using a hole in the floor and a window to kill anything that got too close. And ‘anything’ was denoted by a chart drawn in marker on the wall. It counted the person’s kills: zombies and human.

“Jesus, it was open season on everything out here,” Nick murmured, thinking on the military. He turned to find Ellis beside him, regarding the scoreboard with sunken eyes. The gambler thought again, fiercely, how glad he was that they hadn’t been here to see it. That his young teammate hadn’t had to see innocent people die.

Dropping through the floor and wandering through another house and out it’s broken wall got them to another street. It was tightly barricaded, but on the asphalt there was a bright arrow pointing their way forward. Down a manhole.

“Nick,” Coach said, “I got good news: we’re going into this sewer.”

_Not again. _He wanted to argue but since there wasn’t any other path to take, he shut his mouth and followed the others down, wincing when a dead body broke his fall. It wasn’t an extended trip like their first had been, but it smelled just as nauseating. Worse, it was darker than their last descent causing them to sustain a few wild punches from wandering infected who had been alerted by their splashing footsteps.

There was a literal light at the end of the tunnel, though, and a ladder leading up to it. Nick would’ve been relieved, if he wasn’t so shocked by what awaited them at the top: an impound lot with cars parked every which way. Most of their interiors were flashing with the telltale orange indicator of an alarm system.

“Y’all ever see somethin’ like this?” Ellis asked rhetorically. “It’s like a maze.”

“Watch your fire and we’ll make it through this,” Coach told them.

And he would’ve been right. They did a fine job of checking their bullets and helping each other climb over the cars without alarm systems. It was the Boomer that dropped itself from the ever-above-them highway that ruined the quiet. Nick was pretty sure the bitch had been holding up a middle finger right before her gut exploded.

He had been out of the blast zone, but Coach got a nice splatter of the goo on his belly. And the car. That got absolutely covered in viscera and took a page out of the conman’s own book in complaining about it.

“Gotta move!” Rochelle shouted. She and Ellis took off over the last of the cars, slipping between one more and the booth in which a security guard must have worked. Nick rushed after, sparing only one glance behind to see the zombies come spilling from somewhere beyond the lot to get a piece of their eldest member.

There was another ladder to climb, which proved to be a good thing. Their bullets counted for so much more when they could just aim down and shoot their attackers without worrying about their backs.

With the threat gone, Coach turned and surveyed the area ahead of him. The relief that enveloped his face was palpable. “We did it, people! We’re on the bridge! We’re almost outta this place.”

There was an ambulance next to them. Rochelle wisely went around it to see if there were any extra supplies. Her diligence was rewarded with two pill bottles which she scooped up, intending to put them in the bag with the rest of their supplies. Its bearer had gone a bit ahead, surveying the highway and the congestion, wanting to make sure he and his team would make it through.

And then the bridge exploded in front of him, the shockwave sending his big body stumbling back onto his ass.

“Oh, _come ON_!” Nick yelled at the jet engines that rocketed through the sky above them.

Ellis stepped by him to help the former footballer to his feet. “Y’alright, Coach?”

The older man waved him away, obviously in a bit of a daze from the near miss. More so because their most direct path was lost. He approached the broken section of the highway and stared across it. Then his eyes moved down and he seemed to remember himself.

“Alright. Shit. Nobody panic. We gonna head down and find another way up onto the bridge.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t panic?” Nick asked. “I mean, I think panic was invented for just this sort of situation.”

Coach shot him a look, but Ellis redirected it. “Guess we’re gonna hafta visit that graveyard.” He flashed them a smile. “Man, if these were real zombies goin’ inta this graveyard would be like death.”

“I’m still not too happy about it,” Rochelle said. She sat at the edge and together she and the mechanic dropped down onto the crumbled street.

They went slowly through the cemetery, wary of the spaces between the tombs. It was almost comical, though, how few zombies there were, just as their youngest member said. Unfortunately, it seemed he had a lot to say about their current surroundings.

“You know why they bury ‘em above ground?” he asked Nick. He did, but he let the other man finish anyway. “They bury ‘em like this ‘cause they’re below sea level.”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, man,” he whispered loudly, as if he’d just realized something. “I hope we don’t see no ghosts.”

The conman jerked to a stop and blinked at him. It was a goddamn miracle that the tangents the bassist took didn’t give them all whiplash. “Ellis, you’re carrying like ten different guns.”

That attractive face wrinkled. “Y’can’t shoot’a ghost, Nick. I mean, shit, it ain’t rocket science, man.”

Nick sputtered at his back, encouraged to move again by Rochelle’s playful elbow knocking against his. He looked to her as they fell into step. “Scariest thing is that he’s serious.”

“And you slept with him,” she snickered.

Nick rolled his eyes. “He’s not much of a talker if you keep him busy.”

“You mean he _didn’t_ seduce you with a Keith story?”

He shook his head at her smile, about to voice a retort when something caught his attention. “Wait.”

“Need time to think of a comeback?”

He shushed her gently, holding up his hand. Their two teammates stopped and looked to him. After a heartbeat, they heard it, too. Grunting, too deep for a normal zombie.

“Think it’s a Tank,” he said. Usually the big things found them first, but now they clung to their advantage by huddling around their leader and loading two of their guns with some of the incendiary ammo they’d found earlier.

They moved forward as a unit, going around another bend in the graves. Through the gaps between them they could see the looming figure, shuffling with a mindless stare. It was going in the same direction they were and the tombs were coming to an end. Since they wanted to keep as many obstacles between them and it, Ellis aimed, fired, and hit it as it passed another opening.

That got it to roar, got it to start throwing its tantrum, got it vaulting itself over the tombs to get at them. Nick and Rochelle lit it up, literally, since they’d been the ones packing the fire bullets. Its skin caught, pissing it off further. They backpedaled from it, fingers clamped on their triggers. And for once, miraculously, the Tank fell without too much fanfare or pain.

“We’re too damn good,” Ellis crowed triumphantly.

And hell, it certainly felt that way, until they were standing in another saferoom, with the harsh lines of graffiti reminding him otherwise.

At first, the words praised the military, but he knew better: CEDA had failed and the military had given up.

_Kill all carriers_, the wall said.

“Stock up, y’all. Think this is the home stretch,” Coach said.

_Carriers = Zombies_

“I think you’re right, Coach,” Rochelle said, relief and energy back in her voice.

_DON’T BREAK THE QUARANTINE LINE_

“Gotta be the right way with all these supplies,” Ellis said.

_If you help anyone from the compound they won’t EVAC you_

“Take as much as you can carry.”

_THOSE ARE HUMAN BEINGS OVER THERE. THEY’RE BEING SHOT FOR NOTHING_

“Nick?”

_There’s NOTHING WRONG with those people!_

“Nick, what’sa matter?”

_They are being shot to save you_

_ They are infected_

_ If you let them in I’ll kill you myself_

A hand gripped into the meat of his shoulder, turning him physically when he wouldn’t do it himself. He blinked into Ellis’ eyes.

“Nick?” he asked again, soft.

“Ellis,” he answered. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“We already talked about this,” Coach told him, though it sounded an awful lot like a warning.

Nick ignored him, taking in the worried creases distorting the mechanic’s face instead. He took him by the shoulders and turned him this time, directly to those sharpie messages. Rochelle stepped up beside them, her gun drooping as much as her expression as her eyes roved over the wall.

“If they didn’t kill them outright,” the gambler told them, his voice low, “they fenced them in and left them to die. They don’t care if people are carriers or not—they weren’t risking it.”

The reporter turned to him, brown eyes finally full of the same anxiety squirming around in his stomach. Over their shoulders, their leader sighed so heavily it ruffled the neck of Nick’s dress shirt.

“Y’think they’re gonna shoot _us_?” their youngest member asked.

“This happened before we got here, young’un,” Coach answered. “If we get’ta them, there’s no way they’re gonna leave us behind.”

The card shark spun on him, perturbed by his stubbornness. Rochelle spoke up for him and, honestly, thank _fuck_, because at least her voice was level.

“Coach,” she murmured, “you have to admit this doesn’t look good.”

He looked between them and Nick expected anger. What he saw instead was fatigue, was guilt, was dejection. “We’ve already come this far.”

“So we can go farther,” Ro said.

“I ain’t goin’.”

“_Coach_.”

“How many times did we almost die out there? And y’all expect it’ta get easier?”

As if answering for them, the room suddenly shook around them. The deep thrum of the bomb dropped nearby vibrated through the ground and walls until parts of the ceiling were crumbling down on their heads. Ellis covered his, instinctively stepping into the conman’s space.

After their surroundings had stabilized, Nick shot his oldest teammate a sneer. “Guess they ran out of bridges to bomb.”

Coach sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I ledjy’all inta this…”

“Ain’t nobody mad, Coach,” Ellis assured him. He reached out to smack his bicep. “None’a us knew it was gonna be like this, man.”

The taller southerner nodded, appreciative. “…I ain’t tryin’ta make this choice for all’a us. If y’all wanna go, you go, but I think it’s safer to keep goin’. You turn around and try to get back through the city they’re bombin’?” He didn’t need to spell it out for them. “No matter whatchy’all choose, I know I can’t make it out there anymore. I’m real tired, y’all.”

Rochelle looked perplexed. “Nobody’s leaving you alone.”

“If we split up, none’a us’re gonna make it,” the mechanic said. Now he turned to Nick. They all did.

He didn’t know why. Their youngest teammates had already made up their minds and he couldn’t guarantee if they headed back that a bomb wouldn’t kill them all in an instant. But most of all, despite what their current disagreements were, Nick _wasn’t_ going to let Coach go and die alone.

“Let me stock up,” he said, resigned.

“Nick,” Coach started.

“We’re staying together,” he interrupted, not bothering to look at him. Not when Ellis’ proud smile was so much more blinding.

The younger man wanted to say something about his decision, he knew he did. He knew it was going to be something mushy. Something complimentary and congratulating. Nick didn’t give him the chance. He led the way out of the safe room, through a backyard of some sort, shooting the loitering infected as they went.

And just as they’d done before they slipped in and out of apartments and homes, climbing stairs and dropping down from balconies to get to main streets. These streets were always blocked off and now he knew the reason for it. It just forced them to keep ducking in and out of crumbling buildings. It wasn’t the most ideal thing, not with the bombs threatening to bring all the rubble down around them, but choices were things in short supply.

He couldn’t even enjoy it when they found a club, one he most definitely would’ve visited had the apocalypse not reduced it to ruins. There was a bar, a stage for live performances, and to Nick’s dismay and lament a pool hall upstairs. Unable to help himself, he took up one of the cues, ran his fingers down its length and wished they could stop just a minute, just so he could play a round with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth like he used to.

“Betchyer real good,” Ellis said, coming to lean a hip on the table next to him.

“_Real_ good,” Nick murmured, unable to keep the innuendo out of his voice even with all the anxiety fraying his edges.

The mechanic chuffed, bowing his head briefly. The older man smirked at how quickly he looked back up, pleased his confidence hadn’t waned after what they’d learned.

“Was never good at pool.”

“That’s because it’s a game that takes patience.”

“I’kin be patient.”

Nick didn’t believe that but humored him by not arguing. “If you did learn, you could con a ton of people.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “Bunch of people would trust those baby blues, Overalls.”

“S’that what you did? Find marks playin’ pool?”

_And then some_. “Sometimes,” he murmured, looking over the table.

Coach and Rochelle moved ahead through the back of the building. The gambler made to follow, but Ellis caught him by his elbow.

“Hey, I wanted’ta tell ya—…”

“What did I say about getting all emotional on me, Ellis?”

He grinned and did it anyway, his thumb rubbing and searing. “Just thought it was big’uv ya.”

Kissing him would’ve been a bad idea, but the thought was there all the same. He would’ve if it had been another time. If they’d been standing here when this place had been working, with the bass of the band buzzing through the floor and their feet in tandem with the alcohol in their veins. With Ellis clean and dressed up, bent over one of the pool tables, cue in his hands.

But the shaking around them wasn’t of their own making.

Outside, they went out through another alley, crowded but short. They managed to find an open door through some more abandoned, ruined apartments. Most of the windows had been blocked, but they found an exit on the top floor. They walked across another balcony until its abrupt end, railings broken and unsafe. One by one they eased themselves down and looked at the obstacle before them.

Someone had erected a scaffolding between the apartments as a method of escape. At some point, most likely not long after the initial bombing had begun, a part of it had fallen, cutting off their only path. Together, they made their way to ground level towards their only solution: a goddamn Mardi Gras float.

He could’ve made yet another comment on how often they needed to set off a proverbial dinner bell for the infected to follow, but seeing as there was no point he kept his mouth shut and threw the switch, permeating the air with jazz.

They took cover under the stairs they’d taken to get down. They were metal with too many gaps to provide absolute cover, but they’d learned by now the more they could funnel their enemy towards them, the better. They’d also learned that if you were going to bank on a plan, you needed to be ready for something to come and try to fuck it up. That’s why they were quick to throw their mollie to lessen the swarm coming from their front. It was also why Ellis was quick, and smart, to keep his eye out for the mutated ones—particularly the Spitter that tried to come from somewhere on their left. Nick never saw it—just heard one round of his rifle and the monster’s dying scream.

The float wobbled under their feet, but they crossed safely. There were zombies waiting for them in the rooms of apartments ahead of them, but none were an issue save for the Smoker that managed to nab Nick as he led them into another bare shop. He’d seen the red of a first aid hutch and had instinctively gone for it. Fortunately for him, his teammates were sticking close and they’d shot the thing to dust before it could draw him in.

He still wasn’t happy he had to unwrap the slimy appendage from around his middle.

The next street seemed so identical to the ones they’d already taken that he wondered if they’d somehow doubled back, even more so when they had to go through even more destroyed homes. Armed as they were, they didn’t stop to check the rooms—hesitant to see the aftermath of the people left behind or what had befallen their corpses.

There was _another_ alley they needed to take, frustrating them all enough that even Ellis made a crack at the monotony of it.

Difference with this one was at the end it opened onto a view of the bridge.

Unfortunately, Ellis had been so distracted by the sight that he failed to miss the Witch turning a corner to their right. The bombs that had been falling more steadily now had cloaked her sobs, quieter as they were when these bitches decided to go for a stroll.

As it was he skidded to a stop, just short of colliding into her, but not enough that his clothing didn’t brush her. And that was it, that was all the infected needed. She spun, talons wide, her screaming making the reverberating tinnitus in his ears all the worse. She slashed upwards, once, but Ellis had stumbled back on his butt at her first shriek and so she missed. Nick tried to grab the front of his shirt and pull, but the bassist couldn’t get his feet under himself.

Coach surprised them all by shoving ahead and dropping the barrel of his shotgun into her mouth and blowing her head clear off.

Nick didn’t even care about the gore that spattered over his forearms. He laughed and pulled Ellis to his feet. “Holy shit, Coach. Nice.”

“Gonna be real glad to never see one of those bitches again,” he replied. His eyes were drawn when he spared them a look, but he smiled through the exhaustion. “Almost there everybody.”

Ellis gave a shaky whistle, almost as shaky as his hands as he recollected his fallen weapon. Nick didn’t say anything about it, nor when he gave a half-hearted kick to the corpse that almost cut his journey short as they passed over it.

There was a safehouse—most likely the last they’d see—in the bridge. It had no doubt been outfitted by the military, probably used for people who had also taken an alternative path before they’d given up on saving anybody.

It had two levels, and if the second story was anything like the first, a shit ton of supplies. There were three medical kits on the table in front of them, which made them comfortable enough to patch up their little hurts and aches. Next to them were extra weapons: a machete, an axe, and guns. Nick had his SCAR, but with the weapons laid out before him he figured it was a good time to add to his personal arsenal.

He tossed his nightstick aside, figuring the machete was going to sever zombies a lot easier anyway, and picked up the M16 to sling it across his sore back. Still, the sting was a welcome one if it meant more bullets to shoot.

Then he picked up the gun his eyes had been drawn to first: a magnum. He tossed his handgun aside for it, lifting and admiring its shine.

“Gun’a yer dreams?” Ellis teased after Coach and Rochelle had taken the ladder up.

“I’m gonna pop so many heads with this,” Nick responded, tucking it away.

“Think you’re gonna hafta.” That teasing tone had disappeared, replaced with despondency.

The conman elbowed him as soft as he could, let his lifted eyebrow ask the question for him.

“…Just thinkin’, if all these people were tryin’ta get’ta the bridge an’ they weren’t immune or carriers… Think it’s gonna be as bad as you said on the boat.”

Nick thought so, too.

“An’ then at the end? Soldiers could already be gone… or it could be like y’said an’ they shoot us on sight.” He grabbed his hat, bravado suddenly lost. “I can’t watch y’all get shot.”

The conman straightened out, reaching up to pull his hand away. “Or,” he murmured, “like _you _said, we could be immune. We get across the bridge—because we’ve killed every fucking thing in our way so far—and we get rescued.”

“Nick.” But the cloud over his eyes was clearing away.

“You got my back, right?” he asked, echoing those words he’d spoken in the swamp from what felt like so long ago.

“I gotch’you,” Ellis promised, his smile back.

And what more could they promise? Nick gave his cheek a gentle slap and turned to ascend the ladder.

Apparently, though, the younger man had thought another, because he caught the conman by his wrist and hauled him back into a kiss. This time he was the one pushed back into the nearest wall. This time Ellis took control.

He skated his hands up from where he’d pushed at Nick’s chest, up into his hair to hold him tight and still. The gambler let him, slipped his own hands around his waist to flatten against his back, to urge their bodies together with no space between. He let Ellis take the comfort he needed, tried to give him more in the fierce press of their mouths.

The northerner held him there, tracing the knobs of his spine upwards, squeezing the muscles of his flank. One of Ellis’ hand dropped from his head to his chest, intent on touching and memorizing as the bigger man’s did.

When those plump lips parted from him with a soft click, Ellis drew in a shaky breath and tilted his chin down, dislodging his hat in the process so their foreheads could touch.

Nick breathed with him, unsure why this shook him more than anything they’d done in that bedroom.

“Boys,” Rochelle called, reluctant. She’d poked her head through the opening and her guilt at interrupting was clear in the curve of her frown.

“Comin’,” Ellis replied, stepping back and fixing his hat. When he smiled this time, he meant it. “Let’s go kill some zombies; we’re damn good at that.”

“Sure are.”

His mood was lifted even further when they climbed up top and saw all the weapons laid out before them like delicacies at a banquet. There were three combustibles: two pipe bombs and a Molotov divided between them to even the playing field should they get overrun. But the weapon that delighted Ellis the most was the grenade launcher, fully loaded and with shells stacked beside it.

He claimed it immediately, shoving the extra ammo in his oversized pockets like that’s what they’d been made for.

Once they were all situated, they looked to their leader.

“Alright, we gonna stroll across this bridge and the army’s gonna take care of us.”

_Or line us up against a wall and shoot us_, but he held the words back and followed them out.

The bridge had been lifted, which normally would have been to allow the passage of ships. Now, it had been to slow the progress of the zombies, though Nick didn’t know if that meant they were already on it or to prevent their crossing in the first place.

A screech of interference caught their attention. Nearby a soldier’s corpse was huddled against a cement barrier, blood encrusted and limp. The radio attached to his vest went off again, though this time they could make out voices within the garble.

Coach walked over and knelt, picking up the little block to speak into it. Nick took a step forward, unable to discern the words from the doorway.

“Hello?” the ex-footballer asked into the receiver.

“Rescue Seven, that’s coming from the bridge!” One stunned voice declared. “Bridge, identify yourself!”

“Yeah! We got four of us here on the other side!”

“Bridge, are you immune?”

“We are _not _infected.”

“Negative, Bridge!” the man snapped. “Are you _immune_? Have you encountered the infected?”

The big man had very clearly become fed up with this question and all its variants. “_Encountered?_ Boy, I am covered in zombie blood and puke and eyeballs and twenty other parts I don’t even recognize! We are immune as _shit_.”

Ellis snickered behind them.

There was a pause, then the soldier spoke again, but not to them: “Rescue Seven, are you equipped for carriers?”

“Affirmative, Papa Gator,” a second voice replied.

Nick met Coach’s dark eyes then glanced over his shoulder at their younger members.

“Bridge, we have pulled out of that sector,” Papa Gator informed them. “Your only remaining pickup is available on the other end of the bridge.” So, they would rescue them after all? He felt hope spark in his gut—the army wouldn’t rescue them if they didn’t have a chance. That wouldn’t make any sense. You don’t rescue people just to shoot them. “Our last chopper is leaving in ten minutes. You need to lower the span and get across the bridge. God be with you.”

“Wind up that chopper,” Coach instructed, “because here we come.” He dropped the radio down unceremoniously and rose to his full height. Immediately he reached to the circuit board and pressed a large red button. The bridge groaned in response.

“Ten minutes?” Rochelle asked as the span descended.

“We got this,” Ellis told her, absolutely sure. “We’re gonna be juss fine.” He took his place beside Nick, knuckles tight on his shotgun.

“Let’s get across this goddamn bridge,” the ex con added. “Stay to the middle and call out if you get grabbed.”

The second it lowered Ellis and Coach sprinted forward, their weapons giving the blast power needed to clear out anything that came from their front. That left the northerners and their rifles to watch their sides and pick off the screaming zombies in the distance.

There were two buses they had to sprint between and then it was as cluttered as every other road they’d walked upon. Cars, vans, and even some semi-trucks were abandoned along its length, blocking and threatening their route in equal measure. Where there weren’t vehicles there were cement partitions, obviously meant to contain and slow foot traffic for the soldiers when their evacuation had been in progress.

Now, it meant that their team had to get too close to the edges for comfort.

The zombies were caught up by all the same obstacles, but they had the numbers. They had the rage. They had no fear in flinging themselves from the tops of trucks, over gaps, over each other to reach the four desperate survivors.

They opened fire, staying as near to each other as they could, though at some points they had to go single file between too-narrow pathways. The infected weren’t so courteous to each other, climbing over their fallen without a care or thought. The team mowed them down, alternating their reloads so two guns were always firing and protecting the ones that weren’t.

They rounded another set of cars, forced to stop abruptly due to the giant hole, blasted through the asphalt and metal. The jets had been dropping bombs here, too. It wasn’t just ten minutes until the helicopter left. It was ten minutes until the entire structure was decimated.

“They’re covering their retreat!” he yelled to the others. “We gotta go to the side, listen for Chargers!”

The edge they ran across was thin and several zombies tried to waylay them, but there was a truck immediately beside them, protecting their right. They hugged it, grateful for the cover it provided from any errant mutated zombies that could’ve blindsided them.

Well, at least until they cleared it, because once they were back out in the semi-open a Jockey pounced down on Rochelle’s head. Its weight sent her crashing to her knees, hard. The little freak stuck to her tight, his gnarled fingers twisting around her braids and yanking. She gave a cry of pain and Nick, fearful of his bullets going through the Jockey and hurting the reporter, unsheathed his machete and buried it in the thing’s skull.

He peeled it off her and tugged her up, noting the new rips in the knees of her jeans. “Let’s move!”

She’d dropped her rifle in the scuffle, so she switched to her handguns, akimbo and badass and ready to go. He wanted to compliment her but considering they had about eight minutes to get the hell off the bridge he thought it best to save his breath.

Their teammates had waited on them, thinning out the horde advancing on them. When Coach saw their approach he started up again, a hitch in his step from what Nick could only assume was his bad knee acting up. Ellis kept stride with him, digging down in his pockets for extra ammo once his shotgun clicked empty. When his palms likewise came up empty, he chucked the gun aside to plunk down in the water below.

He slipped his rifle off his back, falling back and letting Rochelle take his place in the lead. His shots were slower, but more accurate this way, and the power behind his gun meant his bullets could rip through four torsos if they were lined up. With how the zombies were coming at them, he actually managed it, cackling to himself all the while.

“Yeah, get some, baby! Get some!”

“Light ‘em up, Ellis!” Coach applauded.

There was another gap ahead of them, all twisted metal beams and crumbled cement. The frame of the bridge had held on the sides and they’d once again have to watch their steps carefully as they crossed. Ahead of that another span had been lifted, though this one had collapsed during the bombings. Angled as it was, it could act as a ramp for them to rush up and over.

The moment they made the decision to go right they heard the cry they’d feared the most. A Charger dashed at them from above, hurtling towards Coach who had crossed the narrow metal first. A sudden blast knocked it off its trajectory, sending it reeling and wheeling to the left. It gave a confused moan as its momentum led it straight off the edge of the bridge.

Ellis laughed and loaded another shell into his grenade launcher. “Hah! I ain’t no goddamn son’uva bitch, you better think about _that_, baby!”

He’d clearly lost his mind, but Nick figured it was a welcome thing considering the insanity around them.

Another swell of zombies rushed down at them and they moved forward to meet them, to diminish the danger of having nothing at their sides, but they just didn’t get far enough away from the hole. And they heard the Smoker too late.

Blue must’ve been those things favorite color because the coil found him _again_. It wrapped snugly around his chest, pulling at the torn skin of his back. He tried to yell out to his teammates, but the air was choked right out of him when he was yanked from his feet, from the asphalt, from the _bridge_.

His mind blanked, focusing on only the water below him, seeing it and knowing that he was going to die when he hit it. Knowing that all it had taken was a few seconds for all his fighting to mean _nothing_.

There was a _snap_ above him and a painful one around him. He made some sort of choked yelp, but the tongue was so tight around him he could barely breathe, let alone scream.

There was an upwards tug on his body and that jolted his mind back into production. The tongue still had him. The tongue was _pulling _him.

Nick spun in his hold, trying frantically to swing himself towards anything he could grab without peering down to see the disorienting view of his legs and feet kicking against the air. The tongue wrenched him again, causing him to sway in a rocking motion.

“Don’t shoot it!” he heard Rochelle scream above him.

He felt more yanking, little pulls, unsure and jolting. They evened out his motion and raised him up, letting his fingers catch and slip and catch again onto one of the damaged beams still holding the bridge together. Just as sudden as he’d clamped onto it, the support around him disappeared and he lurched down hard, his shoulders locking violent and painful when his stubborn grip held firm.

Sucking in a panicked breath, he tilted his head up. “Help me up!”

“Nick!” Ellis screamed. His face came into view over the edge of the road. “Holy shit, man! I gotch’you, I gotch’you! Y’gotta reach up’ta me!”

“Pipe bomb!” Rochelle yelled from further off, obviously hoping to distract the zombies away from their plight.

Nick grunted and pulled himself up because he sure as fuck wasn’t dying by falling into a goddamn river. When he could, he hooked one of his legs over the beam and clambered atop it, feeling the sweat slipping down his back at the exertion and adrenaline that had begun coursing through his veins.

“C’mon!” the mechanic urged him.

Carefully, shakily, he rose to his feet, lifting up his arms blindly, hesitant to raise his head and upset his balance. He felt a callused hand take hold of one—_Ellis’ hand_—and then another, bigger, grab his other. Together, they lifted him as if he weighed nothing until his knees were back on the asphalt. They released him and he fell forward, gasping and panting.

Ellis stripped the tongue off him and wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck. “Y’alright? We gotta move, Nick.”

He nodded and took the hand offered to him. “I owe you.”

“Sure we’ll be cashin’ in before this run’s over,” the younger man joked, though Nick heard the tremor in it.

Atop the makeshift ramp Nick realized he’d lost both his SCAR and the M16 strapped to his back. Only the things kept in his pockets remained, and of those only the pipe bomb and magnum could be used to protect his friends. He pulled the latter from his holster and fell into step behind Ellis.

When he checked over the others he noticed their leader had lost something as well. Risking a glance back, he saw their ammo bag, abandoned in the panic of pulling him to safety. _Fuck_.

They had to drop down atop a big rig to get down, pausing only momentarily to help both Coach and Rochelle’s wounded knees, before breaking off into a sprint again. Nick had been worried about their lack of covering fire now that most of them had ditched or lost their weapons. Even Coach had switched to the M16 he’d picked up.

Oddly enough, as they put down the most recent wave—no more filled in their place.

“Was that it?” Rochelle asked, though really, that was just asking for it.

The foundations beneath them began to shake. Nick’s first instinct was to reach out to his teammates, fearing the worst—that his capture had ruined their chances. That he’d cost them too much time and the bombs were dropping. But the snarl of jet engines never came.

No, the vibrations were because of a Tank.

“Oh, come _on_,” he said again. His eyes took in all the cars around them, all the rubble around them that could be used to crush their bodies to paste.

“Stay away from the cars!” their smallest teammate yelled.

“Molotov comin’!” Coach reared his arm back and threw the moment the monster came into sight. The flames blazed up in front of it, catching on its jeans and skin as it stampeded without regard in their direction. Its roar was furious and it retaliated by swinging a massive arm and sending the nearest car spiraling over the side of the bridge.

Their leader opened fire with his rifle, yelling all the while, frustrated that it had no stopping power. Rochelle’s guns did even less, but still she shot, alarm twisting her features. Nick leveled his magnum, tried to hit the thing in the face though it was too far off to make that accurate a shot. He saw his bullet hit, could see the cavity it created in the thing’s shoulder.

Those engorged hands slammed into the bridge, breaking through the concrete and ripping up a chunk to brandish as a projectile. Their team split, two and two, ducking to the sides to avoid the debris. Nick watched it tear straight through a car door behind them in muted shock. Then he watched as Ellis lunged from around their cover and popped one of his shells directly into the Tank’s torso.

It screamed, the power of the blast enough to knock it out of its charge. Its arms hammered down, wheeling to regain its balance. Ellis just reloaded and shot again, and then again, and then _again_ until the monster’s corpse flopped backwards, headless.

“_Goddamn_, Ellis,” Nick muttered, watching the way his chest expanded under that tight yellow shirt, remembering the way it had looked without it.

The younger man gave him an almost feral grin, reflected by the wild glint in his eyes. It looked good on him.

The Tank had cleared the area of zombies as evidenced by the strewn body parts and blood spatters they ran over and through next. Ahead the bridge was one again uneven and they had to mount an oil tanker to get back on track. Up there the infected once again came in full force, rushing them as they divided and sped around yet another gap in their path.

Ellis cleared out a group of infected with another grenade blast. “Die, die, my darlings!” he sang, pausing to load in his sixth shell.

“Hunter!” Rochelle screamed at them from across the hole.

Nick turned, magnum up, and—though he’d deny it if anybody asked—got off the luckiest shot in his life, putting the pouncing shit down with a bullet to its eye. The back of its head exploded in a grisly arch behind its head as its corpse crashed down beside them.

Their youngest teammate grinned at him.

“Suck on that!” the conman sneered, caught up in the moment.

“Hell _yes_!” Ellis cheered. “Y’all can’t stop us!”

Nick was starting to believe it. Their combined ammo and two more grenade blasts cleared the way until they were jumping down from the top of one bus to the ground. From here they could see their finish line: a row of military trucks just off to the right, signaling their rescue point.

“Go, go!” Coach encouraged.

Ahead of them was a fence—the last line of the barricades against the infected. They paid it no mind. They’d heard the commotion atop the bridge, they now saw the survivors, and every last one of them attempted to climb over and slash through the pathetic metal links that separated them. Just as before, it did nothing to contain them and their combined effort sent it crashing to the street. The zombies pitched forward then, effectively cutting off their group’s access between the military vehicles.

Nick withdrew their final pipe bomb from his pocket, lit it with his now-lucky lighter, and chucked it as far as he could. The result was instantaneous: the zombies spun and rushed the beeping explosive, kicking and punching and swarming each other in a frenzy.

By the time it exploded, he and his teammates had dashed by, hearts in their throats.

“There’s the chopper!” Coach called. “Keep runnin’!”

The ramp that would’ve gotten them down safely had fallen—all that remained was one of the buses left behind after it had unloaded its cargo. Nick made to grab at Ellis to get him to go first, but the younger man resisted.

“Help Coach down first an’ then Rochelle!”

With little time to argue, the gambler jumped making the gap and steadying himself for the big body that followed. He just managed to keep their balance and then pushed Coach on. He turned to hold up his arms for Rochelle, horrified by the sight behind her: zombies of all colors and sizes and mutations were not only streaming in from the left but there was _another _Tank angling towards their younger members from the right.

“Move your asses!” he snapped.

Rochelle proved much easier to catch. He did it again after his feet had found the ground. He heard Ellis drop down atop the bus behind them, but more worrying was the Tank crashing down by the font of the bus, not too far from himself and the reporter.

“Run!” Ellis told them and then he gave a sudden yelp.

The Tank had slapped the side of the oversized vehicle, nearly flipping it onto its side. The southerner lost his balance and disappeared from their sight. The monster punched the bus again, causing it to skid sideways on its tires until it was crushed up against the wall they’d jumped down, against the wall Ellis had fallen against.

The grenade launcher landed with a solid clank by Nick’s feet.

Rochelle screamed, loud enough to draw the attention of the giant infected towards them. It lumbered around, and the card shark, seeing white and hearing blood, snatched up his teammate’s fallen weapon, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

The Tank groaned and veered away from them, into another puny fence separating them from the helipad. Predictably, it gave under the stress and the thing gave a baffled snarl as it went down with it.

“Ellis!” Nick shouted, terror tight in his throat. “ELLIS!”

“I’m okay!”

An arm waved at them from _under_ the bus. The northerner grabbed it, pulling with his thighs until the bassist’s feet were free. “Get up, you little shit!”

Ellis did, a sheepish smile stuck on his face as the three of them ran, hands entangled to rejoin their leader. He’d been providing covering fire against the stream of zombies, but the moment they neared him his gun clicked empty.

“Get on the chopper!” he shouted at them, turning and limping towards it.

Behind them, the Tank roared, rearing up to give chase.

“How many shells do you have?” Nick asked, brandishing the launcher.

“Two!” The younger man took it back, not pausing to reload this time, his hands fumbling with the barrel.

Rochelle pushed ahead of them, dropping something from one of her hands. It was one of the adrenaline shots she’d made them take and in the case of her weakened knees, it seemed to have been the right choice.

The Tank was gaining ground, so Nick took a page from her book and shoved his hand in his pocket to find his shot—he came up empty. He’d even lost his cigarettes in his struggle with that Smoker. Only the weight of his lighter remained.

Another blast went off, hitting their pursuer in an overgrown arm and sending it careening to the left. Ellis backpedaled, feet stuttering as they hit the little ramp that led up to the helipad. Ahead of them, Coach pulled Rochelle into his chest and watched with trepidation from the copter.

Nick made it there first, reaching back to grab Ellis around his middle and pull him aboard. The Tank charged after, fists raised, ready to strike and destroy their means of escape.

The mechanic pulled the trigger just before the conman could haul him in. The shot blew up in the center of the giant’s chest, staggering it back, staggering _them_ back with how off-balance he’d been when he made the shot. Nick fell onto his ass, yanking the slimmer body down with him.

And that was enough for the pilot. The aircraft jerked upwards before the entrance ramp could fully close. The screams of the infected, of the Tank, of everything they’d outrun reached them for only a second more and then there was only the sound of the helicopter blades splicing the air and the bridge exploding in the distance.

Nick let his head down with a solid _thunk_.

“We made it,” Rochelle announced, voice watery and wavering with too many emotions.

Coach slid down one of the walls, his laughter subdued under the noise of the copter. He heard it become muffled, presumably in the reporter’s hair from where she’d dropped down to hug him.

“Hol-ee _shit_,” their mechanic added. He dropped his empty weapon and turned over, perching himself above the gambler. “Nick!”

“Yeah, shh,” he swatted at him. “Gimme a minute.”

But the smaller man didn’t, he sat straight up and pulled at Nick’s shirt, which _hurt_, until he did the same. Then he engulfed him in a hug that smelled of sweat and blood and zombie and Ellis. When he withdrew, Nick expected him to stand to gift the affection on their other teammates. What he did not expect was his jaw to be cupped and his mouth to be kissed so brazenly in front of the others.

It was a short, chaste thing, born of excitement and celebration. Ellis grinned at him after it, eyes shining as much as his teeth seemed to. When the older man gave one back, he stood and moved to Rochelle and Coach.

Nick straightened up, staring at where the ramp separated them from the sky. He tried to shift to the side of the aircraft, distracted from doing so when his magnum dug into his hip. He had ten rounds to it. That and his lighter.

He shimmied himself to the wall and sat back, ignoring the sting across his shoulders in favor of his encroaching fatigue. Quickly, before he could succumb to it, he looked to his teammates to catalogue their leftover supplies.

Ellis had an empty grenade launcher. Rochelle had, most likely, an empty handgun. Coach had ditched all his weapons. Two guns, a lighter, and a couple med kits were all they had to their names.

His fellow northerner interrupted his thoughts, dropping beside him to pull him into an unwanted hug. He patted her back once and she got the message, leaning back to give him a smile. “Thanks, Nick.”

“Kid did all the work,” he replied.

“Naw,” Ellis refuted. “We all kicked so much ass. We are the kings of the world!”

“Sure did, son,” their leader agreed. “Think we earned some quiet time?”

Sheepishly, the other southerner nodded, crossing the small space so he could sit beside Nick. The Ohioan gave them a knowing look and went to an empty spot closer to the cockpit. The gambler shook his head and sagged his head back, closing his eyes to try to block out her smirk.

When he opened them again, it was because of a gentle shake at his shoulder.

“Nick,” Ellis whispered.

To their right, Coach and Rochelle were fast asleep, the latter curled up into a small ball. The exhaustion must have shut them down immediately, though Nick didn’t feel rested at all. All he felt was warmth pressed against his side.

“How long have I been out?”

“Dunno. Fell asleep for a bit myself.”

“Something wrong?”

“Think we’re gonna land soon, heard the pilot talkin’ta someone.”

A seeking hand found his own. His first instinct was to pull away, but for some reason he let Ellis weave their fingers together. “We got nothin’ if this gets bad.”

“Ten magnum rounds and Rochelle’s handgun.”

“Checked it already: six bullets.”

_Fuck_. “They wouldn’t have picked us up if they wanted us dead,” Nick reminded the shorter man, trying to reassure himself in the process. “Easier to let the zombies do that.”

“Okay,” Ellis murmured. His cheekbone pressed into the northerner’s shoulder. “…Hey, Nick?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember when y’shot that Hunter outta the air? That shit was so cool.”

The gambler chuffed. “You mean after you single-handedly killed a Tank? Think you got me beat.”

He could feel the grin against his muscle.

“…’Member when we ran on that roller coaster?”

He was going to tell him to shut up and go back to sleep, but he could feel their elevation dropping. His ears popped as proof. “Yeah,” he answered, distracted.

Ellis felt it, too, hopping to his feet to peer out one of the windows. Nick envied his energy as it felt like it took all the strength he had left just to stand. Outside, they were rapidly approaching the ground.

“Ro,” the bassist called, going over to touch her shoulder gently. When she opened her eyes at him, he crossed to Coach. “Coach, we’re landin’.”

By the time they were all back on their feet the helicopter had touched down. Above them the blades were slowing into silence. From the cockpit they could hear the pilot shutting everything down.

“Hang on tight, survivors,” Rescue Seven told them over the speaker system.

And they did, waiting on quaking, drained legs until they could clearly hear him leave the aircraft entirely. Then came muffled shouting: orders given to soldiers. They grew louder, as did the sound of combat boots rushing their position.

Nick made eye contact with Ellis and then looked to where the hick was gripping their pistol. He pulled his magnum from his holster.

The ramp lowered, blinding them slowly with how the daylight illuminated the shapes huddled outside of the aircraft. By the time it had opened completely, their eyes had adjusted enough to make out the dark outline of soldiers in hazmat gear. Their masked faces made them seem lifeless. Their raised weapons made them seem heartless.

“Get out of the chopper!” Someone ordered. Stunned as they were, it took a second scream to get their feet going. “NOW!”

Coach led the way, taking hold of Rochelle with a protective hand to keep her close. The conman, displeased as he was, followed with Ellis at his heels. The two of them were stopped almost immediately, soldiers rushing them with the barrels of their rifles trained on their chests.

“PUT YOUR WEAPONS ON THE GROUND! NOW! NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS!”

Gritting his teeth, Nick complied, lowering as much as his aches would let him to toss his weapon away. The handgun made a little click behind him as it, too, was discarded.

“Hands up! Move forward! Follow the line!”

Their team obeyed, shuffling along a yellow strip. Soldiers seemed to line them from all sides and angles. They were peering down at them from the walls of the compound to which they’d been delivered. They were watching from the watch towers bisecting those walls. They were watching them from the windows.

Each and every one of them were watching from behind their darkened goggles.

Ahead, two people waited, armed with clipboards, their bodies and faces covered by white hazmat suits. They had a gaggle of soldiers surrounding them, too, as if they needed their own goddamn bodyguards against the four vulnerable survivors.

When they neared, the smaller figure motioned at their group. “She goes to Quarantine B.”

Two soldiers stepped forward to carry out the command. On instinct, Rochelle stepped away from them.

“Hey,” Ellis blurted, ready to insert his body between them. “Y’can’t split us up!” Immediately guns snapped to him, tracking his movement.

Nick yanked him back. “Ellis,” he hissed. “Don’t.”

The reporter raised her arms back up, giving them an unsure and distressed look as she was led to a doorway and corralled inside, lost to them.

_Defenseless and separated_, just like Nick had predicted. _Powerless_, just like he’d feared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hi! Thanks for your patience! I was in Italy when all of the Corona Virus stuff broke out and they had to get us out ASAP. I then had to adapt my class online, so things have been a bit hectic!
> 
> This part marks the end of, I guess what you could call Act 1, in the sense that from here on out we will no longer be following the canon campaigns. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you'll like what I have in store!


	5. Chapter 5: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our survivors have made it to the safety of a military base. But just how safe is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! Firstly, thank you all for your patience. I hope you enjoy this part.
> 
> Secondly: This is Chapter Five PART ONE! This chapter ended up being 76 written pages in total. Obviously, I didn't want to overload anyone so I've decided to divide it into two smaller parts about halfway. Please keep that in mind while you're reading!
> 
> Thirdly: Because I've decided to divide it up I'll be posting the second part sometime next week, so stay tuned!

“Keep your hands up and approach the door! _Single file_!”

Ellis straightened his arms up over his head, sneaking a quick glance at his teammates. They looked _over_ him, however, meeting each other’s eye above his head. Though unspoken, what was shared between them was probably little more than anxiety because they didn’t really have a choice other than to do as they were ordered. Their leader went first and a firm hand to Ellis’ lower back encouraged him to follow. He still gave the northerner an unsure look, not keen on the idea of Nick bringing up their rear.

His elders’ reasoning for his placement in the middle wasn’t lost on him. He just wasn’t sure whether to be warmed by the gambler’s caution or annoyed. He understood, sure, but the thing was those guns being pointed at his friends was much scarier than the thought of a bullet being shot through the back of his head.

That worry made it hard to focus. He’d already been overwhelmed enough by the commands and masked faces outside. So much so that he’d barely registered the gray building before them, save for the door Rochelle had walked through. They’d arrived at some kind of military base and it looked the way he’d always imagined between movies and stories from people who had served. It was nondescript, save for the size of both the yard in which they’d landed and the structure itself.

It seemed possible to Ellis that they were being marched right into a maze. He was anxious wondering about whether they’d be able to circumvent it.

The path they took reinforced that idea. There was a yellow line that bisected the ugly cement floor, uneven and unmeasured. It was obviously done haphazardly, quick and panicked, maybe to try to beat out the infection. Just like Nick had noticed back in New Orleans, the soldiers had probably needed it to separate any rescued survivors.

At one point the hallway had probably been packed with people, shoulder to shoulder with fear cementing them together. Now it was empty, save for the sound of their footsteps almost completely eclipsed by the soldiers that guided them. The clanking of their weapons, the ones in their hands and every side arm and armor piece they wore, rang louder in the southerner’s ears than any of the infected screams ever had.

An infected he could’ve shot. He could’ve beaten them back, even without weapons. But there was no beating a bullet. And there was no protecting his friends from them.

The irregular line leading his feet seemed to become more so—seemed to be slithering between his steps as he tried desperately to stay to the right of it as they’d been ordered. He wasn’t sure why it was so disorienting. The length of the hall probably didn’t help, though. It felt like they’d been walking for miles, venturing deeper and deeper into somewhere they’d never get out of, like meat that gets put at the back of the freezer until it gets slapped on a grill.

He just didn’t know what their hypothetical grill could be.

Nick had surmised they’d be lined up against a wall and shot. And sure, they _had_ been lined up, but being marched a bit like cattle harkened back to the other possibility the gambler had muttered to reassure Ellis: _They wouldn’t have picked us up if they wanted us dead_. The same had to be true for these long moments of uncertainty.

For taking Ro away.

Anxiety bubbled up from his stomach, invading his chest. Before it could clog up his throat, he turned to glance at the man behind him. Whether his words were depressingly realistic or falsely comforting, Ellis wanted to hear his voice say them.

“Nick,” he called. “They’re gonna let us see Ro again, right?”

“I wouldn’t put money on it being anytime soon,” was his answer.

Ellis frowned and searched the weary lines of his face. He hated them. He wanted them to be the soft laughter lines he’d finally earned from their formerly guarded teammate.

He was going to say something, but his redirection must have made his steps go wide, because one of the soldiers spun on him almost instantly.

“Stay to the right!” the man barked, though for how dark his mask was it seemed as though the weapon pointed at Ellis’ forehead was doing the talking.

“Get that fucking gun outta his face,” Nick snarled immediately, even though the southerner had practically tripped over himself to get back into line.

Of course, his tone just enticed the soldier to switch his aim to him instead. Ellis choked on his breath and stuttered in his step _again_, and so it was Coach who swooped in to deescalate the situation.

“Alright, everybody, ease up,” he soothed in a way that reminded the bassist of his instrument of choice. “Boy’s nervous—think you can understand how pointin’ a gun at ‘im might make us a little uncomfortable.”

The armed man didn’t respond. He was shorter than Nick, probably close to Ellis’ own height, and he hadn’t turned his head nor firearm from where he was peering up through the dark mask hiding his expression.

Infuriatingly, the gambler hadn’t backed down either. It might’ve even been cool, the death glare and the little head tilt he challenged the man with, had the tiff not involved a gun primed to spray bullets into his smirking face.

One of the other soldiers ended the tension. “Herrera, cut the shit. Get them into the cleaners.” This man, like many of the others, was a good distance ahead of them. He’d stopped at the commotion, standing taller and most likely higher in the command chain than the others. He was dressed differently, too. In fact, all the other soldiers blocking their way forward or back were.

They’d seen infected in hazmat suits in Savannah. They’d been former CEDA workers and their team had figured they’d been bitten through the flimsy material. They’d been made to stop germs, not punching, biting, spitting, puking, clawing monsters. But now, with the throng around them decked out completely in gear – filtered masks connected to a breathing apparatus, rubber suits, and all of it covered by military packs and holsters – Ellis wasn’t so sure the biting was the problem.

‘Cause he sure as hell didn’t plan on biting anybody, so why were they wearing them now?

Herrera, whose body language divulged his obvious ire in lowering his weapon, wasn’t dressed the same. The only similar part about him was the mask over his face. Otherwise, he wore what appeared to be normal fatigues and combat boots.

And he was the only one standing within ten feet of them.

Ellis shifted to look at the others, but all he could make out about them was their eyes where the clear plastic allowed. He saw many different colors and shapes, but the apprehension was stark in all of them.

“You heard him,” Herrera snapped at Nick. “Keep moving.”

For a beat, Ellis and Coach didn’t think he would. His expression was still hard, and he was nothing if not obstinate to people he didn’t know and trust. But he must’ve felt as out of his depth as the mechanic because he flattened a palm against his back and urged him on once again. It would’ve been a lie, even in his own mind, to say the younger man wasn’t a little grateful for how it steadied him.

They weren’t trudged much further, though somehow it still felt like an extended walk through an ever-shrinking hall. Maybe it was the way the florescent lights pulled at his eyeballs, making it feel as though they were shrinking as well. Or maybe it was their buzzing, artificial nature that cast sickly light to make equally twisted shadows.

Their destination was a set of steely double doors, nondescript save for the label next to it. _Decontamination_.

_Cleaners_, the officer had said, and that was probably a good thing. After everything they’d mucked through it’d be a right blessing to get clean. He couldn’t imagine anything closer to heaven than to smell like anything but diseased blood and sweat and sewer. He looked to Nick when they were paused yet again to gauge his reaction. The relief he expected at the prospect of cleanliness was nowhere to be found.

“Herrera, you and Grady will supervise,” the man in charge said. “I’ll page him down so make sure they don’t pull any shit with the doctors.” He motioned from afar with his elbow. “You first, big guy.”

Coach shot a deprecating look over his shoulder, and the mechanic gave him a grimacing smile in response. Dutifully, he led the way and Ellis made to follow.

“Hang on, kid,” the officer said. “Herrera will escort you.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s such a big threat,” Nick retorted, unbidden.

This time the southerner’s smile was genuine, a response to the warm fondness he suddenly felt for the older man’s snark.

“It’d be best for you if you learn to shut your mouth, man,” Herrera said. He had no qualm in stepping close. Unfortunately for him, his attempt at intimidation backfired because that close it became all the more obvious how lacking he was in height compared to the gambler. Though that might not have mattered with the gun strung along his front.

But that didn’t seem to threaten Nick much, either. Or, if it did, there was no way they’d know with the poker face he’d affected. Normally, he’d be openly antagonistic, but now, for some reason, Ellis couldn’t shake the feeling he was holding back for his friends’ sakes.

After a weary sigh from the commander, Herrera jerked his mask to the side at the mechanic. He took it for the instruction it was and followed after Coach. It was dark inside, save for some light at the back of the room streaming through a broad, rectangular window. He was able to see their leader’s silhouette because of it and he stopped beside him, facing the light.

The commander said something to Nick, though it was too muffled to make out with the distance and the odd reverberation provided by the darkened room. He guessed it didn’t matter when his teammate stepped back in place beside him. He huffed after the doors closed them in, and Ellis wanted to reach out to touch a hand he knew was curled into a fist.

He didn’t, but only because the overhead lights slowly sputtered to life. The room they were in was tiled, blueish-green and sickly in the light. Even the walls were tiled and that made sense when his eyes adjusted enough to see the showerheads protruding from the right and left walls. There were partitions in between each, but no curtains to provide any sort of privacy.

Though, the giant window in the back kind of made that apparent. Ellis wondered if it was like one in the movies – that if the light hadn’t been providing a backdrop the glass would’ve appeared as a mirror. Regardless, there weren’t any people standing behind it and watching them.

That made sense, too, since the officer had said another soldier and some doctors would be joining them. The snippy, little private near them aside… that had to be a good sign.

You didn’t send doctors in to see people you wanted to kill, right?

After a long moment of stretched silence, Nick grumbled. “What’s the hold up?”

“It’s a big place,” Herrera informed him. “And ladies go first.”

Ellis jumped on that. “Y’mean Rochelle? Is she okay?”

“The fuck should I know?” the soldier snarled, exasperated. “I’ve been with you this whole time.”

“Can’t blame Ellis,” Nick said, sparing his teammate a smirk, “you’re kinda hard to miss down there.”

Although it was a dumb joke, although the bassist was just as short, and although it could rightfully get them shot, Ellis chuckled at it.

“You always this goddamn annoying?” Herrera asked, voice weary.

Both southerners answered at once: “Yes.”

“You’re gonna have problems you don’t learn to shut that mouth.”

“Heard that one a few times,” the conman said, mostly to his teammates.

If any of them were going to respond, they swallowed the words down once they heard purposeful footsteps approaching the entrance. Together they watched the double doors open and five people join them; Grady and the doctors. The former was dressed similarly to his antagonistic comrade, but the latter looked vastly different. Ellis recognized their attire from when they’d first arrived. One of these individuals had been the one to make the decision that Rochelle was to be separated from them. If the gear on the soldiers from before had seemed impenetrable then these suits were airtight, like the doctors never planned on removing themselves from the blue rubber.

The tallest one approached first and waved the soldiers off to the door. It seemed to be a command with which they were familiar because the wordless instructions were heeded in much the same manner. Then he turned to the survivors.

And it became clear he was a he once he spoke, nasally though his voice was. “You can put your arms down, but don’t try anything. These soldiers have permission to defend us and themselves.” His voice was familiar because he’d been the one to order Rochelle away.

“From what?” Nick asked. “Three exhausted men?”

“He’s right,” another doctor acquiesced to the survivor. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems.” She nodded to the teammates, and Ellis surmised she was trying to reassure not only them but her associates.

“I’m sure we won’t,” her colleague said tightly. He turned to the other doctors. “The bags.” The direct order made Ellis pause, made him reconsider their position in this base’s hierarchy. Maybe they were nurses, or aides at the very least.

There was an equipment locker in one of the corners, and that was from where they retrieved the bags. They were made out of yellow rubber, just like their suits. Slapped on both sides of them was the biohazard symbol. Each survivor got their own bag, set a foot in front of them and left gaping up at their wary faces.

Before one of the assistants could finish opening the third for Coach, Ellis felt like he had to take advantage of the silence. “Um, ‘scuse me?” he looked between the doctors and then turned to the smaller one, making a small abortive gesture with his hand. “Miss? Uh, Miss Doctor.”

“Dr. Cheng,” she supplied politely.

“Dr. Cheng,” Ellis repeated, trying not to butcher the pronunciation although it was a given with his accent. “Y’all took our friend. Her name’s Rochelle. Is she okay? Can we see her?”

“Your friend is fine,” the man answered a bit tersely. “Now strip down and put everything in the bag in front of you.”

Disposal bags, then. Well, that certainly made sense to him. They couldn’t exactly keep trapesing about in their gore-soaked clothes, not with all these people around who could potentially be infected. But if they were to strip…

“Sorry,” the mechanic interrupted again, “but our friend’s _alone_. Is she—I mean, she’s gotta do this too, right? There’re other women doctors with her, right?”

Dr. Cheng nodded, though it was a smaller movement than it could’ve been because of her suit. “You have my word. She’s with Doctors Rebecca Harris and Moira Powell.”

“Feel better?” the male doctor asked. “Strip.”

He sounded stressed, and Ellis supposed he couldn’t blame him what with the state of the world. It must’ve been even harder on medical people. Still, he couldn’t shake the unease his curtness all but injected right into his instincts.

He turned to see what his friends thought of it and found the same reservation etched in the tired lines of their faces. Each spared him a glance, but with nothing left to do they complied with the order. Coach started with his shirt. Nick decided he was going to kick off his shoes first, grimacing at the worn leather before tossing them, and his socks, into his bag.

Ellis fisted his hands in the fabric at his stomach, hesitant. He knew it was dumb getting worked up over a shirt, but it was his favorite one. Not to mention there was a pretty good chance the entire shop had been destroyed back in Savannah, so all the extras were lost. He supposed he could replace it, once things got better, but even with all the grime on it he hated to think of it getting tossed away somewhere.

He knew the doctors weren’t going to care about that, though, so he tugged it up, freeing it from the knot of his coverall arms. He was careful when pulling it over his head, though he still had to catch his hat and put it back in place when he accidentally dislodged it. That made two rubber heads turn to him.

“Your hat, too,” the taller doctor said.

“Wha--?” Ellis blurted, instinctively snatching it off his head as if they were planning on doing the same. “My _hat_?” He looked between Nick and Coach imploringly, then directed it on the man doing the ordering. His shirt was one thing, but without his cap he’d feel more naked than they were expected to get. “Sir, I’m sure if y’throw some disinfectant on it it’ll be alright. I mean, this hat’s one’uv a kind. Y’can’t juss throw it out…”

“We’re not throwing the bags out,” one of the aides told him, “we’re incinerating them.”

By the tone in his voice that outcome was supposed to be obvious. But for Ellis, who had been through two fallen cities, a carnival, a swamp, and a monsoon, he wasn’t clear on why the only possessions to make it through with him had to be taken away. He was going to try to argue again but opted to glance to the side at Nick first.

The older man was working the belt from around his waist in little tugs. He discarded it as easily as he had his shoes. The only pause he gave was when he caught Ellis’ eye out of the corner of his own. They flicked down to his hands and he could see his chest expand with a defeated sigh. He quirked his lips at the southerner, though not quite enough to be called a smile. Then he raised his own hands and, while maintaining eye contact, slipped his three rings off his fingers. He considered them in his palm briefly and then held them out over the bag and simply tilted his hand to the side so they would slide off and away.

And on his other side even Coach was lifting the crucifix from around his neck, so it felt both selfish and childish of him to complain. Still, he gazed down at the dirty logo one more time and tensed his fingers around the bill. Then, with a sting behind his eyes that he stubbornly fought back, he let it go.

Their eldest member was the first of them to strip completely, stepping back once he’d done so and cupping himself out of view. Ellis did the same and hated how his eyes strayed to Nick. He’d saved his shirt for last, most likely due to the stiffness of his wound. He unbuttoned himself easily enough, but it was obvious getting the material off, even with the way he let it slide down his arms, caused him discomfort.

It caused the doctors discomfort, too, because not a moment passed between him tossing it away before they stated the obvious.

“He’s wounded.”

“I see that,” Dr. Cheng replied. “The bandages need to go in the bag. Are you two wounded, too?”

Ellis didn’t think he needed to elaborate about the battered, discolored state of their bodies.

Coach did. “You don’t make it through what we been through without some bumps and scrapes along the way.”

“But nothing that required the same level of bandaging,” the male doctor observed. There was a clipboard in his hands and the bassist couldn’t for the life of him recall if he’d walked in with it. “What attacked you?”

Nick was busy trying to get the wrappings unraveled, so the annoyed look he shot at the medical team was half pain and half annoyance. Ellis made to help him, but Herrera stepped forward real quick to stop him in his steps.

“Stay put, kid.”

“Was juss tryin’ta help,” he replied mulishly.

“He’s naked, I don’t think he’s hiding anything,” his teammate said. “My back’s fucked and I can’t reach.”

“It’s fine,” Dr. Cheng said, waving Ellis over. Once the task was done, she stepped forward as he fell back into place. “Which infected wounded you?”

“You tell me, Doc.” Nick hadn’t covered himself like his friends, nor did he have any shame in turning around to let them see his slashes and coincidentally his ass. The mechanic wasn’t really surprised now that he’d gotten acquainted with the man’s attitude and confidence. The northerner was as cocky as they came, but in his case Ellis thought it was kind of warranted. Even exhausted, bloody, battered, and running on fumes his body was something deserving of admiration.

He didn’t give into that temptation because he wasn’t sure how anyone else in the room, asides from Coach, would take it. Not to mention it wasn’t exactly right eying your teammate like that. And he especially didn’t want it to be held over their heads.

He wasn’t sure it _would_, but he’d never take that chance where Nick was involved.

“A Hunter,” she answered immediately. “And it looks infected.”

“He goes first,” her colleague decided.

“First?” Ellis parroted.

“Please.” Dr. Cheng motioned with the spread of her arm towards the first shower stall on the closest wall. Then she motioned to the dispenser protruding from the tile. “Use that soap on every part you can reach. Twice.” Before he could move into place, she nodded at one of her attendants.

This safety-sealed assistant walked around the shower stall to get something out of one of the big chests against the walls. It looked like one of those loofah puffs marketed towards women, except it didn’t look like the ones he’d seen in stores. This one looked scratchy, more on the line towards the metal mesh used on a grill rather than something soft for a person’s skin. When she stepped to one side of the stall with it, resembling some kind of guard, it almost looked like a weapon.

Nick didn’t like the look of it, if his brief moment of hesitance was anything to go by. He got over it quickly enough, to save face or because there really wasn’t any other choice laid out in front of him, and he stepped into the spray when it was turned on.

The pressure of the water seemed awfully high to Ellis, and that combined with the loofah seemed like they wanted to peel their skin off rather than clean it. Their friend tested it with his hands and arms but it was impossible to see how dissatisfied he was with his back to them. He did sigh pretty loudly, though, so that was a giveaway.

Needless to say, it wasn’t the shower he’d been fantasizing about.

“Dip your head in and wash your hair first,” the assistant told him. “That way the grit won’t run down into your wound.”

Nick took the advice, bending a bit at the waist to put his head under the spray. He grunted, presumably a gut reaction to the pounding heat of the water. He remained though, lifting his good arm so he could get his fingers through the strands and urge some of the muck out. The runoff sluiced down to the floor, a brown made by a mix of blood, bile, and everything else they’d faced.

When he started lathering it even that came away brown.

It took three washes for the suds to fall away clean, but they made him do a fourth anyway. After that he washed his chest and pubic hair. Again, he did these both three times, but they weren’t near as dirty as his hair had been. Maybe his suit had helped a bit. He was able to clean his limbs quickly, and then his ass, and then his feet.

When it came time to turn and let the spray hit his back he hesitated again. The steadying breath he took was both visible and audible, even more so when he finally turned and hissed in pain. He jumped forward, which made all the doctors jump back.

Herrera was snickering behind his mask, but the conman couldn’t hear it. Ellis figured that was a good thing.

It took a long time for him to get fully under the showerhead, and all the while his handsome face was twisted because of it. He was trying not to make more sounds, but they could tell it was an agony for him to stand there and let the water cleanse away the wound because he was unable to reach it.

Eventually he stood under it so long that the sluice turned from brown to maroon to red. That’s when the assistant stepped forward with her loofah, wetting it and lathering the soap onto it so she could do the same to his back. His chest jutted forward away from her, but he didn’t try to get away otherwise. He gritted his teeth and put his hands to the partition walls beside him, fingers curling for purchase they’d never get with the tile beneath them.

When she’d finished the other assistant brought her another loofah. This one she took to the rest of his body, as an insurance that there was no possible contaminates on his skin. At least, on the outside of his skin.

They shut the water off and Ellis thought his teammate would fall for how his knees seemed to tremble in the wake of the abuse. Instinctively he made to go help him but acquiesced to the big hand on his bicep that held him back. He had to stand and watch as Nick was handed a towel to dry himself, a hospital gown to cover his body, and a surgical mask to cover his mouth.

“Good,” the male doctor said. “I’ll take this one back and get him ready.”

Dr. Cheng stopped him with an upraised hand. “You take him, and you wait for Moira.”

“Of course,” he agreed although he didn’t sound so pleased about it. “She’s the surgeon, after all.” Then he stepped to the door and motioned at Nick. “We’re going to get that back cleaned and sewed up.”

At that, Ellis felt the panic boiling up all anew, heated by his fear of separation. There had been times where their group had been pulled apart—in the swamp and now with Ro. The one time it had happened with the gambler on the bridge, Ellis thought he’d lost him. He’d seen him go over and thought it was all over. He remembered forgetting he had legs. Forgetting he could breathe until somehow both those forgotten things had instinctively led him to a vantage point so he could peer over the edge to find that his lover hadn’t been lost.

And then he remembered the fear he’d had of dying on his friends when that bus had almost crushed him.

He didn’t want to be separated from them. He _couldn’t_ be separated from Nick, not with the way the doctors were sizing him up. Not with the way he was in pain. Not with the way they were all so unsure.

They needed to be together because that’s how they’d survived. It’s how they were going to survive.

“Wait,” he choked, launching forward before Coach could yank him back. “Y’can’t take him, too. Lemme shower an’ go with him. _Please_.”

“Get back!” Herrera and his gun ordered.

“We need’ta stay together!”

“Ellis!” Nick hissed, muffled. “Stop being a fucking idiot.”

“Boy,” the big man at his side chastised, forgoing using his hands as a cover so he could grab the other southerner’s shoulders and hold him in place.

“Herrera, put the gun down,” Dr. Cheng ordered. “Please, everyone stay calm. We’re taking him back so that we can monitor his wound and get it clean before he gets sick.”

“It’s fine,” the conman told them before Ellis could find his voice again. It wasn’t fine, though. That was a lie. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

_So don’t be dumb_, he heard it clear as day in his mind. Still, he couldn’t help but think his reassurance was another lie.

But what could he do about it when Nick was looking at him so purposefully? Maybe he would’ve given a reassuring smile if not for the mask, but for now he just winked one of those gray eyes. Then he nodded at Coach, as if to remind Ellis as to where he needed to stay.

And then they marched him out, barefoot and bare assed, and the mechanic was incensed for him.

“Grady,” Cheng said. The quiet soldier stepped forward. “Go with them, please, and make sure you page Moira on the way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said knowingly.

The doors practically screamed shut behind them, but it was hard for Ellis to hear over the hammering of anxiety through his veins. Then it was doubly hard to hear over the pounding of the water on his skin. It was too hot, searing almost, and somehow the heat of it helped in deafening him.

Like their friend, the two survivors were made to rinse and scrub. Ellis came away from it with red patches for how thoroughly he’d washed himself and then how hard they’d followed it up. Afterwards, though, they declared their wounds superficial and gave them the same gowns and masks to wear. With those things firmly in place—or well, as firmly in place as a hospital gown that exposed your ass to the world could be—they were also led out into the halls.

He’d already felt disoriented when they’d first entered, but now they headed even further into the base. The halls were still gray and utilitarian, and because of that Ellis had the feeling they were using the paths not actively used by the soldiers and the doctors. He supposed that was smart, considering they thought he and his friends were enough of a threat to cover their mouths.

At one of the branches Dr. Cheng stepped away from them.

“Wait,” Coach spoke up this time. “Where’re you takin’ us? What’s goin’ on? Ain’t right to tell us nothin’.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor told them. “I have to go to ‘decon’ myself and get back to work. You’re being led to rooms where you will be quarantined.”

“Quarantined?” Ellis looked to his friend.

“We ain’t infected,” Coach told her. “Would’a turned a long time ago if we were.”

“You might be right,” Cheng said. “And you might be wrong. This virus acts differently depending on the host. The maximum time it has taken to turn seems to be forty-eight hours. I’ve seen others turn barely an hour after first infection.”

“We’ve been runnin’ for well over two days already, ma’am,” Ellis informed her. “Does that mean we’re immune?”

She didn’t respond for a moment and it was hard to tell what she was thinking due to the way the lights above them reflected off her plastic covering. Then she motioned to her assistants. “It’s protocol. After the forty-eight hours we’ll have to perform physicals on you and take some blood.”

“What’re the blood tests for?”

“This way,” one of the assistants insisted as the doctor turned away.

“Because we’re carriers?” Ellis asked him instead since his boss was out of earshot. “What’s gonna happen if we are?”

“Please,” the other assistant, a young woman by the sounds of it, pleaded. “We promise you’ll be safe here.”

He had to wonder if that was a possibility what with the way of the world now. Wondering was about all he could do, though, with Herrera’s gun at their backs and the beckoning figures before them. Well, that and walk.

The rooms they led them to were downstairs, through multiple layers of plastic and hidden in a sublevel of the base. Needless to say, for the southerner everything felt a bit surreal. The only thing he could equate it to was a prison. He could tell that the doors they passed every couple of feet were not the originals. Perhaps this had once been the actual living quarters of the soldiers stationed there, but now the military in conjunction with these doctors had turned them into holding areas. The doors were heavy, metal things with locking mechanisms on the outside. There were two openings in them: one at the very bottom, small enough for a visiting person to slide something underneath, and a thick but small rectangular glass pane at eye level.

They looked exactly like what he’d seen in the horror movies set in asylums.

The two doors they opened were right next to each other, at the end of the hall. One of them had two skinny cots, the other had a double.

“They want them separate for now,” the woman said. She must have been motioning at him, but Ellis had been a little busy looking over his shoulder at one of the doors. There was a pair of dark eyes staring back at him.

“Get in the room, kid,” Herrera snapped, bringing him back.

He spared a glance at Coach who nodded at him. With that he stepped into the room with the two beds. That seemed fair—judging by the looks of it, the bigger man wouldn’t have found it very comfortable to have half his body hanging off one of the tiny mattresses.

“All the way back, put your hands on the wall.”

Ellis fumed a bit through his nostrils, feeling the way it puffed his mask out. He took the few steps and splayed his hands, fingers stretched wide against the white bricks. He assumed his teammate was doing the same in the room over.

“You’ve got forty-eight hours here,” the soldier informed them. “Don’t go screaming or trying to break down the door or you’ll have me or Grady to answer to.”

“Don’t listen to him,” the male assistant said wearily. “You’ll be fine here. Your food will be delivered through the bottom panel of the door and there’s a small bathroom. We ask that if you’re going to shower you only take a few minutes.”

“And when do we start gettin’ some answers?” Coach demanded.

“Worry about making it through quarantine first, buddy,” Herrera said. “See you in two days.”

Their doors slammed shut and the locks echoed as they fell into place.

The room he’d been forced into was small, but he knew for a fact some people in big cities lived in even smaller ones. Or so he’d been told. Why anybody would want to live cramped in a tiny space like that instead of having a big yard was beyond him. For now, though, he wasn’t about to complain about having a clean bed to sleep on. Not after what he’d been through.

No, the only thing he had to complain about was the loss of his friends. At the very least, even with the walls between them being made of cement blocks, Ellis discovered early on that if he knocked loud enough Coach could hear the thumps and answer with his own. That at least reassured him during the first couple hours.

Beyond that there’d been nothing else to do but survey his surroundings. Ellis had never been to college, but maybe this was what dorm rooms were like: two small cots with thin blankets a couple feet apart in a windowless room. Between them was a tiny dresser in which there were t-shirts and boxers. Atop it was a tiny lamp that had a softer glow than the blaring overhead lights.

In one corner of the room was a rack of clothing which held a couple pairs of scrubs. They were a little baggy on him, but he was glad to have his ass covered.

Then there was the bathroom. It was likewise small, with a singular sink and a medicine cabinet above it. Inside was basic necessities like toothbrushes, toothpaste, plastic razors, and some soap. The toilet was low to the floor and too close to the stall of the shower.

Inside that stall was generic shampoo, conditioner, and another bar of soap. He knew he’d end up banging his elbow or something when he tried it out, but considering he’d just gotten the roughest shower of his life, he turned away from it gladly.

It did feel nice to clean his mouth out and use a toilet in semi-privacy. He could hear Coach flush, so he assumed he could be heard just as well through their shared wall.

The only other point of interest in the room was the flatscreen television bolted in the corner to the right of the entrance. Unfortunately, when he’d turned it on every channel had simply displayed the time. At first, he’d left it on, figuring it was helpful to know as the quarantine passed, but after a while he had to turn it off in frustration. He couldn’t stand to watch the numbers click by in lieu of anything else.

Of course, his frustration had only manifested the second day because that first night, after they’d banged on his door and pushed a plate of barely edible food through the bottom slot and he’d swallowed it down, he’d slept like the dead late into the next afternoon. He’d expected to be out for much longer, but apparently his body decided it had gotten what it needed. Being stuck in a room, not knowing where two of his friends were or what they were doing, probably wasn’t helping his stress levels, either.

That’s why he got so agitated at the clock on the television. Every time the second counter changed he felt like he could hear the click of it, although it was an analog, illuminated display. It sounded exactly like the big, old clock his mother had displayed in her living room. It had belonged to her parents and Ellis wondered if it was still there or if zombies had found their way in and somehow destroyed it.

He wished _he_ was there, maybe not now, but as he’d been as a child, sitting beneath it with his legs crossed and his tongue clucking to try to imitate the sound.

Now the little ticks were only in his head and each and every one of them reminded him that another second had gone by without his friends. Without knowing whether they were scared or in pain. Whether they were dead or alive.

It was the latter thought that had him turning off the screen and he thought the army guys very lucky he wasn’t smashing his fist through it.

It made him feel a little better, but in the silence he had nothing but his thoughts. The thing everybody always said about his brain, and Ellis had to admit the truth in it, was that his imagination often ran away from his logic. Now that it was amplified by the worry he felt for his teammates, it was only leading him down some dark paths.

He was worried for Rochelle as a woman alone in a military base that was heavily populated by men from what he’d seen. Maybe they’d separated her to keep her safe, but nothing would change his mind that the safest place would’ve been the cot next to him.

But, even then, he couldn’t lie to himself and say that she’s the one he wanted in the bed over the most. It was just what he knew to be right.

Who he wanted was Nick.

The northerner had been wounded and in pain when they’d walked him away. That male doctor had seemed too interested in his wound and too interested in separating them. Maybe Dr. Cheng had been nice, but that could’ve easily been a front. Ellis had seen plenty of movies and played several video games with crazy, nonethical scientists. Even if they were a trope of fiction, he couldn’t forget the way they’d zeroed in on Nick so quickly and closely. They’d been preoccupied with his slashes and how he’d obtained them.

Were they using him as some sort of test subject? Was he tied to a table somewhere so they could take chunks to study?

What if they’d killed him to see what they could harvest and learn?

What if? What if he was gone and that was it?

Ellis thought about the helicopter and how Nick had let him fold their hands. He thought about their private reassurances. He thought about the deck of the boat.

He thought about how it was only a few hours in the grand scheme of things and that made his eyes sting.

Stubbornly he shoved the heels of his palms into them as if that could stop the feeling.

He was glad when the smacking arrival of his dinner came to distract him. It wasn’t much—some dry chicken, canned green beans, and a biscuit, but it was warm and more than he’d gotten while they were on the run. More importantly it meant that it was getting later and that in turn meant he was closer to the only other distraction he had available to him: sleep.

It was dreamless which wasn’t normal for him. Usually he had all sorts of crazy, nonsensical dreams throughout the night. Right now, his brain was just too tired for it. He was happy that his fears hadn’t permeated into his slumber, though. He didn’t think he could handle dreaming about his friends being held against their wills and tortured.

There was an instance where he thought he’d started slipping into one, with the way his body jerked awake in response. With his eyes open, staring into the darkness while his consciousness slowly coming back to him, he became aware of the real reason. Distantly, somewhere very far away in the base someone was screaming. It was so muffled by the thickness of the walls that as he sat up, he had to calm his breathing and limit his movement to be able to hear it.

But still, he heard it. As much as he needed rest, his body was still in that fight or flight mode and even something so quiet was enough to have him wishing he’d had some kind of weapon besides the tiny little razor in the bathroom that could barely cut his skin let alone be used in defense.

Putting his faith in the sturdiness of the door, Ellis dropped to his belly next to it so that he could align his ear to the hatch at the bottom. He couldn’t open it from his side, but it was thinner than the rest of the door and his best chance of discerning what exactly he was hearing.

The first thing he knew in his heart was that the screaming was not human. Well, not _human _human anyway. He could differentiate between a person screaming and a zombie now, apparently even in his sleep. The problem was he couldn’t place the scream with any of the monsters they’d faced. It didn’t sound like any of the normal infected nor any of the mutations that had given them more trouble.

Hunters and Smokers were the loudest of them, a Charger sounded like a bull as he ran, and a Witch screamed when she was provoked. This was none of those creatures. It wasn’t even the warbling of a Spitter or the giggle of a Jockey.

This was something else and that terrified him.

To make matters worse, a sudden pair of heavy boots stomped passed his door, making him bang his elbow on the wall in his surprise as he tried to back up. But the feet continued on and he was left sitting up against the end of his cot, staring at the illumination pouring into his room from the hall.

A few more figures ran by, blocking the light in turn. When it was steady again, he rose to his feet so he could put his face against it. He seemed to be the only person with that idea, though, because from what he could see nobody had their noses pressed to the glass in the opposing doors.

He couldn’t have been the only one to hear it. Not if the rest of the rooms were filled with survivors who had fought their way through hell like he and his friends had. Then again, he couldn’t see every door from his angle.

He hoped Coach had heard because if those people came running back the opposite way with zombies behind them, they were in trouble. It didn’t take very long. As sudden as the screaming had started it stopped and all the soldiers walked back through, masks and gear firmly in place. After they were gone, one last soldier followed.

Ellis knew him by his different apparel.

He smacked on the glass, then curled his fist and banged on the door. “Herrera!”

The soldier turned his head towards him but continued to walk right on by. Ellis banged even harder and louder, shouting his name repeatedly. When he finally gave up and let his hand slip down, Herrera’s tactical mask practically jumped into his view, startling him back a step.

He recovered in time to see one of the soldier’s hands raise up to the side of his door. “What?” he asked, voice clear over an intercom Ellis hadn’t realized was there.

“Whaddya mean ‘what’?” the southerner couldn’t help but snap. “What was that screaming?”

“What screaming?”

Ellis blinked at him through the glass. “C’mon, man. I heard it! Did zombies get in? Are my friends okay?! Where’s Ro and Nick?”

Herrera sighed heavily and made sure it was heard through the speaker. “Wish they’d let us give you people Xanax or something. Your friends are fine and ain’t no zombies running around. You’d hear a lot more gunfire if there were.”

He wasn’t sure how much he believed him regarding his friends, but he made a solid point about the infected. The army wouldn’t hesitate to blow them apart. He would’ve woken long before now to the sound of fighting than some lone screaming.

“So, what happened, then?” he asked. “Woke me outta a dead sleep.”

Herrera paused for so long Ellis felt his hackles raise.

“Some people can’t handle quarantine,” he settled on, like it was that simple. And then he was gone.

Ellis knew that if Nick were there, he’d have called him out for his bullshit. Some of his distrust must’ve rubbed off on the mechanic because he felt the weight of the lie heavy across his shoulders well into the morning hours.

The last day of quarantine was the hardest. He woke early, according to the television display he’d turned on out of curiosity. That meant he had far too many hours to whittle away inside his mind. He tried to keep it from thinking about his friends and their whereabouts. But since he couldn’t wonder about them it just made him think about the other people he’d lost in this mess.

He had no idea where his mother was. As much as he wanted the three he survived with to be alongside him, there was nobody’s face he wanted to see more than his mother’s. He wanted to see it healthy and alive and not gray. They had the same blood, though, right? If he hadn’t turned after everything that had happened—after being scratched and puked on—then that meant she wouldn’t have either.

That gave him comfort. She was tough as nails, ten times tougher than her son would ever be. She was alive and he knew it.

He wasn’t going to accept anything else.

Same went for his friends from back home. He knew Keith had gotten out on one of the first evacs and he had a hunch Dave had either been with him or soon to follow. If they were keeping survivors who had gotten out before exposure together he could almost guarantee they would have found his mother.

He tried to focus on those thoughts, on the ones that gave him hope.

He tried not to think about how easy it was for a helicopter to crash, considering he’d survived one. He tried not to think about how overrun New Orleans had been and all the dead, gray faces of people who had thought they’d made it to safety. He tried not to think about the way the military had immediately separated male from female, friend from friend, to shove him in a brick cage.

Needless to say, it didn’t really work.

To his surprise, though, he was saved from his dread by the television. It startled him, actually, how fast it snapped over from the clock display to an actual broadcast. It wasn’t any station he could recall, though. It was a woman in a white doctor’s jacket with one of the gray walls of the base behind her. She had very short brown hair and an angular but tired face. He assumed she was one of the ladies Dr. Cheng had mentioned.

She all but confirmed it when she began speaking.

“Thank you for your patience during your quarantine phase,” the woman said. “I’m Dr. Rebecca Harris, one of the doctors in charge at this facility. We know you have a lot of questions and once again I must thank you for your patience regarding them.

We’ve kept you separated to monitor for possible mutations. After the forty-eight hours this room will continue to be yours, in lieu of anywhere else to put our wards. We’re playing this video to prepare you for the tests we will have to run today. These are standard, like the kind you experience in a yearly physical.”

Somehow that didn’t make Ellis feel better.

“We ask that you wait your turn and in anticipation prepare yourself. We ask that you shower and shave any facial hair you may have. When it is your turn we will come and knock on your door. Make sure that you are dressed, with a face mask firmly in place. You will be instructed to turn your back to us, with your hands on the wall. After that follow the orders of the soldiers until you are brought to one of our examination rooms. Again, thank you for your patience and compliance.”

And then her figure was gone, replaced with the nonexistent clicking of the digital clock.

The recording was very timely because not five minutes later did he hear the knocking. It wasn’t on his door, though, but the door next to him. He rushed quickly to peek through the little glass panel to spy the two soldiers he knew by name—Herrera and Grady, standing outside Coach’s room. They were telling him to walk out slowly and keep his hands where they could see him.

Once he obeyed his eyes immediately went to Ellis’ door.

“Coach!” the younger man chirped, feeling the relief flooding his chest all the way up to tighten his throat.

“You alright?” his teammate asked, voice raised to get through the door.

“I’m okay!” he affirmed.

Herrera reached out and pushed the big man away. What he said was muffled, but Ellis didn’t have to guess that he was urging him to where the doctors were waiting. He hated that he had to watch them go, fingers curled up by the glass as if he could wiggle it free and reach through.

He stood there and waited for a while, but a while ended up being near an hour. Knowing his turn would follow, he opted to venture to the bathroom so that he could shower and shave as he’d been instructed. By the time he was finished it was his door’s turn for the knocking.

He went out quickly to don his mask as the video had instructed. Then he tucked his feet into the slippers they’d provided under the clothes rack.

“Back to us, hands against the wall, kid,” Herrera’s voice instructed further.

Ellis complied, though he didn’t think the soldier was that much older than him. He listened as the door opened, walked out slowly with his hands up, and didn’t argue when they prevented him from peeking into Coach’s room.

They led him through the base again, back up the stairs and through the plastic partition. They walked through what he assumed was the main area of the base and down some narrow hallways into where the doctors must have done most of their work. One of the biggest hallways held the door he was ushered through, into a room that was unlike any doctor’s office he’d ever been in. It looked more like a dentist’s office, with a big light over the bed they’d set up. All around was equipment he didn’t recognize.

One of the doctors was sitting in a seat waiting for him.

When he could look into the transparent covering over their face, he felt very lucky to find that it was Dr. Cheng.

“Hello again,” she greeted him.

He offered a shaky smile and then remembered the mask. “Ma’am,” he murmured instead.

She motioned to the bed and he sat, folding his hands in his lap to regard her. Then he regarded Herrera who had remained inside the room with them, his back blocking the shape of the door.

“A precaution,” Dr. Cheng answered his unspoken question. “I argued I wouldn’t need a guard with you, but…” Here she shrugged and he felt himself nodding as if to support her.

It should’ve been the other way around, in his opinion.

“Your name is Ellis?” she asked.

He perked up a bit at that, but then realized how she knew. “Yes, ma’am. Did Coach tell you that?”

“Coach?”

“The big guy who was in here before me?”

“Darnell,” she said, half a question.

Ellis stared at her a moment, mind blanking in disbelief. He was glad she couldn’t see how his mouth was hung halfway open. He felt a little ashamed that she knew something about his friend that he hadn’t. He didn’t know why it had never occurred to him to ask.

But then again, the only moment of downtime they’d had on their journey had been on that boat… and he’d been a little _distracted_.

He hoped he recovered in time. “Yeah.”

“Yes, but your other friends asked about you first.”

“My other friends?” he questioned excitedly. “Ro and Nick? Are they okay? Can I see ‘em?”

She had been reaching for a chart during his questioning and she lifted the hand that wasn’t holding it to calm him. There was a kind squint to her eyes behind her protective gear, though her surgical mask hid her smile. “Not right now, but yes, they’re fine and healing.”

Ellis’ shoulders slumped and he looked down to where his fingers were wrung together.

“They told me you were a talker,” she informed him, another sentence posing as a question.

“I guess,” he dismissed. “Kinda hard’ta talk when y’keep gettin’ told’ta shut up.” Here he shot a dark look at Herrera. The soldier responded by rocking on his heels in obvious amusement. “None’uv y’all are answerin’ any’a my questions.”

“And so, you don’t believe me,” the doctor guessed.

He lifted his face so he could meet her eyes. “With all due respect, ma’am,” he told her, “me an’ my friends’ve been fightin’ for our lives for days’ta get’ta y’all. When we finally make it y’all put guns on us an’ keep us separated.”

“I promise they’re fine,” she tried. “I give you my word.”

Ellis was trusting by nature and normally he would’ve appreciated how nice she was being, but he’d spent two days worrying in his room. A room they locked him into _alone_.

“I ain’t tryin’ta be rude, ma’am,” he explained, “but I don’t know you.”

“That’s fair,” Dr. Cheng replied. “I wish there was more I could do to reassure you.”

He pursed his lips behind the mask. He felt guilty for his honesty, but he refused to let the apology spill out.

“Well,” she breathed, once she realized she wouldn’t be receiving a response, “I have a few questions for you and a few tests to run. So, after you answer mine, I’ll try to answer yours. Alright?”

He nodded because there wasn’t much else he could do.

“What’s your last name?”

“McKinney.”

“And how old are you, Mr. McKinney?”

He winced at the sound of that. “Juss Ellis is okay… I’m twenty-three.”

She scribbled on the chart. “Any preexisting conditions? Any allergies to food or medication?” She noted his head shakes at each. “Any addictions we should be aware of? Alcohol or drugs?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You and your friends have said you’ve been in direct contact with the infected. Does that mean you’ve encountered all of the mutations?”

“If you’re askin’ if I killed every zombie, big or small, that tried’ta kill us then the answer’s hell yes.”

The doctor actually chuckled at that. “Did you suffer any bites or scratches?”

Ellis lifted his arms to look them over. “Didn’t get bit, but when those sons’a bitches grab ya they dig their nails in.” He did have scratch marks on his arms and legs which he’d discovered under the sting of their shower. He’d even felt a few on his back, but nothing had been big enough for them to drag him aside like they had his teammate.

“And what about fluids in any orifices or cuts?”

Well, that sounded downright disgusting, but he’d walked through sewers, chopped through bodies, and had been covered in bile so it was probably a justified question. He nodded.

“I’m going to take your temperature. Have you felt unwell at all during your quarantine?”

“No,” he said, watching her raise the temperature gun to his head.

“98.6,” Dr. Cheng announced, putting the tool away. “So far so good.” She looked back down to her chart. “Are you sexually active?”

Ellis blanched and hated how his face heated. He only hoped his mask covered most of it. “Um… yeah.”

“Any STD’s or STI’s?”

“No, ma’am.”

There was a pregnant pause before she asked: “Have you been sexually active recently?”

He stared at her as if he’d forgotten what human faces were supposed to look like. With all he’d been through maybe that was warranted. Then, though he hadn’t intended it, his eyes drifted to the soldier standing by the door listening to every word they shared. Dr. Cheng’s head followed his gaze.

She turned back to him and amended her question: “When was the last time you were tested?”

This was still an embarrassing question, but at least he didn’t feel as though he was about to blurt out any names by divulging the answer. “I ain’t ever been tested.”

Dr. Cheng nodded and wrote something down. Then she was standing and gathering things at the counter behind him. When she approached him, it was with a small cup in hand. Ellis knew exactly what she wanted him to do with it before she told him.

“I’ll need a urine sample.” She pointed to the corner where another partition separated what was presumably a toilet from view. “Fill it about halfway and then I’ll need to check your genitals as well as get a swab.”

The southerner frowned, feeling his gut tighten in discomfort. Still, he rose and did as he was bid, glad that he had to go so he had something to put into the plastic. After he finished and sealed the top, he emptied the rest of his bladder into the toilet bowl. At her command, he lowered the lid before flushing and then returned.

She made him clean the outside of the cup with a wipe before he could put it on the counter behind him. She also made him hold his breath while she swabbed his mouth. He was quick to reaffix the mask to breathe normally again as she sealed the sample away.

Then she went about what he’d come to know as a normal physical. She took his blood pressure, and though she couldn’t hear his heartbeat or lungs due to the plastic divide, she still watched the inhale and exhales of his chest to determine his health.

She saved the worst parts for last, though.

The first of those was checking his genitals for any signs of STD’s. She at least let him turn his back to the soldier before dropping his pants. She also let him move himself which made the check-up perfunctory and quick. It still didn’t make his face burn any less, especially when she took another swab at his urethra.

He pulled his scrubs back up as she turned to lock that sample away.

“Do I need to check anywhere else?” Her voice was low, meant only for them.

“Anywhere else?” he repeated in confusion.

She raised her eyebrows and it occurred to him that through his non-answer she must have guessed the truth. He’d been obvious enough with his stammering and pink face. Not even a mask could hide that.

Or maybe Nick had said something? They would have needed to ask him the same questions and maybe he hadn’t been watched like a hawk by two soldiers so he’d felt free to answer. But, then, he wouldn’t have, not with the memory of what had happened when Coach had found them still fresh in their minds.

No matter how nice a thought it might be for Nick to throw caution to the wind regarding them.

“Um, no,” he murmured.

She took his word for it and motioned for him to sit back down. The only thing left for her to do was take his blood for the multiple tests they needed to run on it. He watched her pierce his skin and likewise watched as she filled the vials with dark red. As she finished the second, he thought of his next question.

“If we ain’t zombies does that mean we’re carriers?” he asked.

Dr. Cheng finished her current tube before she met his eyes. “Where did you hear that?”

“We saw a bunch’a signs when we were goin’ through N’Orleans. They were tryin’ta keep people apart there—and then there was graffiti talkin’ bout carriers.”

She sighed and started the third vial. “Most likely,” she answered.

“What’s it mean? Bein’ a carrier?”

“It means you’re unaffected by the virus, but you still carry it. You won’t turn, but since it’s in your system you could turn other people.”

Ellis frowned and looked down at where she was finishing. She rubbed a piece of cotton over where her needle had gone in and then covered the hole with a band aid. When she turned away to set the bottles in a nearby case for transport, he got to his feet.

“…Does this mean you’re gonna kill us?”

“Kill you?” she asked in genuine surprise. “Why would we kill you?”

“’Cause we’re walkin’ infections?” He thought about all the people who had made it out before the zombies had gotten to them. To the ones who had never had to share proximity or air with them. If they were carriers him sneezing nearby could turn those people, right? “It’d be safer… is that whatchy’all are gonna do? Test on us an’ then kill us?”

“Nobody’s killing anybody,” Dr. Cheng said emphatically. “You are safe here, Ellis. I promise you that.”

He felt as though he was too tired to listen. “I heard somebody screamin’ last night. Sounded like they were either bein’ gutted or… or they weren’t no human.”

“We have a surgeon and three virologists, including myself. We’re here to save lives—to try to save everyone on the planet by finding a vaccine,” her voice had risen, had grown tremulous in claim. “We’re not going to do that by killing people.”

She’d avoided his answer, and he let it stay that way. There was no point in arguing, not with two trained soldiers at the door.

The doctor took a moment to calm herself, then she also rose to her feet. “They’ll have dinner for you in a little bit,” she said. “We’ll most likely have your results tomorrow.” Then she turned to the soldiers. “You can take him back, thanks.”

Dinner wasn’t waiting for him when he returned, so he sat on the bed while they locked him back in. At least now he had a new band aid to stare at and consider. He preferred that to lingering on her answers to his questions. To lingering on the questions he hadn’t asked.

The doctor’s time must have been off because it was an hour before they banged on his door. That startled him a bit, considering the last two days they’d announced his meal over the intercom before unceremoniously sliding it under the door.

It startled him even more when Grady’s voice came over the speaker instead of his partner’s. “Same drill: hands on the wall, back to us.”

He stood, unsure. “I already got tested,” he reminded the other man.

“Hands on the wall.”

Ellis put them there, feeling his body go tight from top to bottom.

“Don’t move or we’ll tase you.”

He had no plans to do anything of the sort, at least not without a weapon. Even if he did, how would he free his friends afterwards? How would they find their way out? How would they fight an army?

The door opened behind him, he could feel the presence of the two soldiers, but it was the footsteps of a third that caught his interests. The steps made the same sound his own feet did in their provided slippers. He heard them come into the room, he heard Herrera mutter something, and then he heard the metal shutting and locking again.

Then he heard Nick murmur his name.

He didn’t mean to, on account of some nagging voice telling him it would be unwelcome, but he all but lunged into the man an instant later. He did soften the force behind it, but he knew there was a chance he would’ve sprinted and jumped if he’d had the room. As it was, he just wrapped his arms around the bigger man’s middle and tried to avoid the wounds on his back. Then he tucked his chin up over his shoulder.

“Shit, man! I didn’t think I was ever gonna see ya again!”

For his part Nick only hesitated a moment before loping his own arms around his teammate. “No shit.”

“I ain’t kiddin’! I was real scared they tiedjya to’a table an’ were gonna experiment on ya or somethin’!”

The older man huffed, but the little laugh sounded unsure. “They wouldn’t even put me under all the way to clean and sew up my back.”

Ellis winced at that. “You okay?” he asked quietly. “They fix you up?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, just as quiet. “I’m fine. What about you?”

The mechanic didn’t want to, but he could sense that it was time to lean back out of his friend’s space. He did so slowly, letting his hands move forward along his flanks before he dropped them awkwardly. Nick didn’t seem to have the same unease, though he never really did. He leant back but let his hands settle on Ellis’ upper arms, looking him over while he waited for his answer.

“I’m juss fine,” Ellis assured. When the touch upon him moved away he lifted his hand to smooth his curls as a cover. “Slept the first day an’ spent today starin’ at the walls.”

His teammate wrinkled his face at that and turned to survey their surroundings. He stepped around Ellis to do so, eying the beds and peeking into the bathroom. Obviously, there wasn’t much to see, save for the television his eyes fell upon when he turned back. He jutted his chin towards it.

“I’m guessing that thing doesn’t work, especially if you don’t have it on.”

“Naw, it’s just a clock.” Ellis stepped over and reached up to turn it on for him. “Think they’re usin’ it just’a make announcements. That’s how they told me’n Coach we were gonna have the doctors look us over.”

“Where is he?”

“Aw, shit—he’s right next door. If y’pound on the wall in the bathroom he can hear it.”

“Christ,” Nick sighed. “What about Rochelle?”

The younger survivor felt his sudden high deflate a bit. “Was hopin’ you’d seen her.”

He received a discouraged look at that before his new roommate took the few steps so that he could poke his head into the small bathroom. To Ellis’ surprise, he looked relieved after checking it all over. It seemed like it might be too small for the broadness of his shoulders, but he stepped in all the same. A moment later two resounding thuds echoed out from the space.

A few seconds passed before two responded.

Ellis came up and leant in the doorway.

“Can he hear you?” Nick asked.

“You’d hafta be pretty loud… but I’kin make out the toilet flushin’ sometimes.”

The older man took this in stride and then turned back to him. It seemed like he had another question but got sidetracked when he leaned back up against the sink. Ellis didn’t mind the way his eyes perused over him, especially since he was openly doing the same. Nick seemed to be carrying himself with much less pain now, and though there were still dark circles under his eyes, they didn’t seem as bad as they’d been.

And unlike the mechanic, the doctors seemed to have allowed him to grow out his stubble into more than just a dark shadow along his jaw.

Ellis liked it.

“Hard to recognize you without that hat,” Nick commented, head tilted, “but you clean up good.” He stood up straight.

He was glad his first instinct was to laugh, though that didn’t stop the second one that brought his hand up to pat where his missing apparel would have been. It was one of the things he’d been trying to avoid thinking about—it was just a hat after all, but now that one of the people he’d been worried about was standing in front of him, maybe he could allot that mental space towards his loss of the little things.

“Yeah… you look better, too.”

“I smell better, but that’s about it,” he scoffed. “Think it’s my turn to sleep for twenty-four hours.”

“They didn’t let you sleep?” Ellis asked in disbelief.

Nick stepped to him and jutted his chin back towards the beds, so the younger man let him pass. He sat down on the one closest to the bathroom, which had been the one Ellis had claimed for himself, but he wasn’t about to comment on it. He just plopped down on the opposing one so that they could face one another, knees aligned only a foot apart.

“I slept,” he replied, “but not nearly enough. They didn’t shove me in a room like this—I had a hospital bed and a glass pane so they could watch me in case I turned.”

“Wha--?” The southerner wasn’t sure he could be less eloquent. “Turn? Didn’t they make ya take a blood test?”

Nick rubbed his hands down his thighs, skimming them off his knees before putting his elbows in their place. It brought him closer, but it was clear he was repositioning to fight his annoyance and exhaustion. “It’s a long story.”

“Yeah? Do I got somewhere’ta be?”

His teammate snorted at that. When he sat up, he swiped his hair back. Ellis watched the way the strands fought at that now that they were free from product and zombie goo. He was surprised to find that they had their own little waves.

“They took me in after the shower to fix up my back.”

The younger man nodded, thinking back on it. “They waited for that other doctor, right?”

“He had no choice—Grady paged her right away and constantly reminded him that she was coming.”

So, Nick had had even more exposure to the doctors than they had. It sounded like it was the same case with the soldiers.

“Surgeon comes in,” he continued, “and they get me on this operating table face down. Hell, it’s more like a massage table, you know? It’s got that hole in it for you to shove your face in, and that’s what I do. And you know, I got the—” here he made an aborted motion at his forehead, “well, it’s healed now, but I had the cut there and—it was shitty, let’s just say that. Not to mention there was no cushion so every goddamn cut and bruise I got on me is aggravated by my weight.”

He ran his hand through his hair again and Ellis smiled at one of the errant strands that fell against his forehead, right over the healed cut he’d mentioned.

Nick caught his eye, but only quirked up one side of his open mouth as he went on: “The Surgeon—Powell’s her name—starts getting everything ready to sedate me, right? The other doctor, Reid, tells her not to waste it. Starts arguing that they need it for _serious_ surgeries. Part of me’s relieved: what happens if they put me under? They could’ve done whatever they wanted, right? The smart part of me is panicking ‘cause I didn’t need them to start sewing me up when I could feel the needle, but that’s what happens… They clean me out and that means digging it out and it burns like fuck before I go numb. Was hoping I’d pass out by that point.”

Ellis felt his gut and jaw clench, cringing at the phantom pain alighting along his own back. He clenched his fingers in the scrubs at his legs to distract himself.

“Didn’t get that lucky. They finish and then they sew me up. Never thought I’d be more relieved to have a needle stabbed through my skin.” He rolled his neck and looked down to his slippers. “Since they already had me there, they did all their tests and then shoved me in some room for monitoring.”

“Didjya get the results?”

“All healthy and clean,” Nick reported. “Told me there wasn’t much they could do about the addictions, though. Save for this.” He lifted the sleeve of his left arm, displaying a little tan square. “Can’t use any drugs on me, but they have nicotine patches. Go fucking figure.”

“It workin’?”

“Don’t know; I’m pissed off and have a fucking headache. Next thing that happens is the coughing.”

“How do you know?” Ellis asked. “You tried’ta quit before?”

“Once. Guess I gotta stick it out this time, huh? Just tell me to fuck off when I end up biting your head off.”

The younger man shot him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll know y’don’t mean it.”

Nick scoffed but gave him a smile back. “…Your turn. Bet you’re going stir crazy without anyone here to listen to a Keith story.” He waited while Ellis laughed. “What happened after they corralled me out? You and Coach got tested today?”

He didn’t have as much to report as the older man, but he told him everything important. The most important of things were the scream he’d heard the night before and how his tests had gone. His roommate raised a brow at the former, saving his questions about the latter until after Ellis had explained best he could.

“Didn’t sound like any infected we saw.”

“Then what did it sound like?”

The mechanic shook his head. “Herrera said it was a person goin’ crazy in quarantine… but I don’t think it was, Nick.”

“Okay,” the other man murmured, voice gruff. He was trying to think of something reassuring to say, but what was there? They were trapped and weaponless. Maybe he was wondering if the other survivor had dreamt it?

But, no, he knew Nick by now. If he’d thought that he would’ve said it. Ellis wished he could will away the smile, but the quiet acceptance and support felt like a balm for something he hadn’t realized was stinging.

“Y’said y’got your test results already?”

Nick nodded.

“Did they test you for…?” He motioned vaguely downwards. “Y’know.”

He’d been glad his face hadn’t flushed when asking the question, but he felt his cheeks warm when he saw those gray eyes flash. Then that damn smirk was crooking up one half of his face.

The gambler leaned closer. “For STD’s?”

He waited until Ellis nodded.

“Told them I’d just gotten tested a couple weeks ago, but Powell asked if I’d been sexually active after that. So, they got me on a technicality.”

So, that’s why Dr. Cheng had asked about checking him everywhere. She’d assumed him to be some straight guy, but with Nick’s admission and his embarrassment she’d probably connected the dots. And now he was worried because though they’d kept their voices down there was no telling whether or not the soldier had heard.

He frowned at that, thinking back on how afraid he’d been to admit to the people closest to him. Now he had to worry about at least one overbearing soldier who probably had some qualms about guys who were into dudes.

It must have shown on his face because Nick reached out to flick his kneecap with one of his fingers. “I didn’t name names, Scarecrow.”

“N-no,” Ellis stammered hurriedly. The last thing he wanted was for the other man to think his insecurities were because of him. “I think Dr. Cheng knew, is all…”

“Well,” he said, tone a little irked, “she _is_ a doctor. Don’t think she’s gonna go telling the whole base.”

“No,” the southerner said firmer. “It ain’t about that. She’kin tell anybody she wants—it’s Herrera. He was standin’ guard or some shit an’ I don’t think he heard but last thing anybody needs is for him’ta call us fags an’ one’uv us’ta haul off an’ slug’im.”

This amused his roommate to no end, judging by the smug smile that lightened his features. “One of us? Which one?”

Ellis looked between his smirk and his eyes. “Whoever’s closest.”

Nick practically cackled at that and leant back, planting his palms on the mattress and holding his weight there. He regarded his friend for a moment. “Let’s wager it—twenty it’s me.”

“Twenty what? Ain’t got no money.” He leaned forward. “An’ y’don’t think I’d do somethin’?”

“Sweet kid like you?” the northerner teased. “Nah, it’ll be me. Already want to introduce my fist to his face after he held that gun on you.”

Ellis wanted to get up and sit next to him, had done so on the helicopter. With the current of their conversation he thought it might be welcome, and yet he stayed where he was. Because although he was a person of easy affection it seemed like Nick was more so one of easy sensuality.

Could that carry over into intimacy? Was it a bad thing to wonder? How much touching had he gotten away with because they’d had a chance of it being their last?

It was one thing cuddling girls… it had to be different with guys, didn’t it?

Chewing on his lip, he redirected with another question: “Did they get back to you aboutchyer blood? About why we’re immune?”

His teammate scoffed again. “Ain’t immune.” Here his face grew serious, his eyes perceptive and awaiting the younger man’s reaction. “I’m a carrier.”

“…Which means I must be, too,” Ellis murmured. He looked down to the veins in his hands, wondering at why the blood within them could endanger any hope for the world to return to normal.

To endanger the people he loved.

“Asked Dr. Cheng if they were gonna kill us if we were carriers,” he admitted. “She said we’re safe here but… ‘course they’re gonna say that, right?” He looked up to the older man, feeling the way his expression changed, as if reflecting how slogged his heartbeat seemed to become.

Nick shot forward immediately, diminishing the already short distance between them. He smelled good, manly and clean, and it helped to be able to inhale his scent without anything obscuring it.

“What’d I tell you on the helicopter?”

“…Y’said that’ta calm me down, I ain’t stupid.”

“You are if you’re gonna put words in my mouth.” He smacked the side of the smaller man’s knee so he’d look up. “There’s a ton of us here. About a hundred and I saw plenty of them looking out those doors when I was marched down here.”

“There was some lady… she had some disease and kept gettin’ people sick back in the day, right?”

The conman frowned. “Typhoid Mary.”

“What happened to her? An’ don’t lie. You think you’re good at it but I’m gonna know.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Nick said evenly and Ellis believed him. He also believed him a second later when he spoke: “They quarantined her on an island for the rest of her life _after _she refused to stop cooking.”

“They gonna shove _us_ away somewhere?”

“Fuck, Ellis. I don’t know. They’re not gonna kill us though, they need our blood for testing.”

He winced a little at the vitriol in his voice, though he couldn’t blame it. He shook his head, ashamed for having bombarded his friend with all his paranoia and worry. Nick was in pain, suffering his own withdrawals and Ellis had uncaringly added to it.

After all, there was no way he wasn’t upset at their situation, not when he’d been the smartest of them all in campaigning for their group to find their own way.

Ellis wondered if he regretted not going on his own. If he regretted the extreme risk he’d taken for his fire forged friends. He wondered how much _he _had weighed into the decision.

“M’sorry,” the mechanic mumbled. “Brain’s been comin’ up with all sorts’a crazy stuff.”

Nick sighed through his teeth and reached out a hand so he could squeeze just under the shorter man’s knee. “I get it, but it’s better now that we’re both here, right?”

“It’s ten times better,” Ellis breathed readily. It’d be twenty if he’d known for sure that Rochelle was in a room similar to their own, but he doubted he needed to say that out loud.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nick said. “We have so far.”

The younger survivor grinned at that, wondering if the conman referring to their group as ‘we’, if him planning for the four of them, if the way he’d softened during their time together would ever stop making something floaty waft around in his chest. He hoped not.

He was saved from blurting that out by the sudden buzz of their intercom. Herrera’s voice came through it, dispassionate and put upon as it had been for every meal delivery. “Food.”

The little hatch opened and one plate came in after the other.

“Doc insisted you get a pill for your headache, too,” he said.

“One’s not gonna do shit,” Nick spat.

“Then don’t take it, the fuck do I care?” And then the buzzing was gone.

“Jesus, that guy’s a bigger asshole than I am.”

Ellis laughed and rose to get their food, waving his friend back down when he tried to do the same. He had to peek under the plastic cover to see which one had the pill and, after handing that over, he made to retake his seat.

“Think I’m sitting on your bed,” Nick said. “Smells like you.”

“Wha--?” the southerner sputtered around a laugh. “I showered.”

“And I’m grateful,” he replied jokingly as he stood. He shot him a cheeky look. “I didn’t say you smelled _bad_, Overalls.”

“I don’t mind—”

“Yeah, me either.” And he settled it by sitting down on the free bed and uncapping his food. Ellis took his bed back, sitting in the warm spot left by the bigger body.

When he took the lid off his food the smell of rice and chicken wafted up at him. They were tucked neatly into the little grooves of the tray in addition to some broccoli. It looked healthy enough, if a little less than he’d normally eat.

Nick gawked at it. “You’ve been getting _meat_?”

“Yeah?”

“They’ve been feeding me oatmeal and cheese sandwiches.” He set upon the plastic utensils, hurriedly cutting into the chicken so he could mix the pieces and broccoli into the rice. There was some sort of soy sauce packet provided that he poured atop to make it all into a brown mixture. Then he set upon it exactly like a man who’d been subsisting on oatmeal might.

Ellis chuckled and mixed his own food together. After taking the first bite he glanced up. “Y’know, I figured you’d hate this stuff.”

“Oh, it tastes like shit,” Nick reported, “but I’m starving so I’m going to lick the goddamn plate clean.”

The younger survivor laughed again and they both fell to the task. It was a quick meal, mainly because they hadn’t been provided with much food. After they stacked the trays near the door they took turns using the bathroom. Nick was quick to test out the little lamp between their beds and then, obviously preferring its illumination, was quick to shut off the bright lights above them.

When he sat back on his bed Ellis knew he wasn’t going to last long and, as much as he wanted to talk to him and hear his voice in turn, he settled on watching him doze off, fast and deep like he hadn’t slept in two days.

Nick woke him up twice that night, though not on purpose. The first was with the coughing he’d been expecting. The second was with cursing and heavy breathing. Ellis had been facing him, but in the blackness of the room couldn’t make out his figure. He could only hear the shifting of his sheets and then a soft _pat _as something hit the floor.

“Fucking useless,” the older man muttered.

“Y’okay?” Ellis asked, voice a sleepy murmur.

“Fine,” came the tight answer. “Sorry.”

In the morning, or what he presumed to be the morning without any windows to tell him otherwise, he was the first to wake. His roommate didn’t even stir when he clicked on the golden glow of the lamp. With that light he was able to see the source of the sound from a few hours before had been the gambler’s discarded nicotine patch.

Ellis felt a little sad to see it and wondered at how much discomfort Nick must’ve been in. For the moment it seemed like the rest was doing him some good. He tried not to disturb it as he went to use the bathroom. He seemed to have succeeded because his teammate hadn’t stirred by the time he came back to sit on the bed.

In fact, he didn’t even stir when their breakfasts were delivered and Ellis had to shove their empty trays from the night before under the door in order to get the filled ones. At that point, though he felt a little bad about it, he knew he’d have to rouse him. If he was going through withdrawals, he’d need the food to do it.

“Nick,” he called, hesitant to reach out and touch him like he wanted. “Breakfast’s here.”

To his relief, the bigger man rolled to face him without irritation lining his face. The only thing there was fatigue. Ellis gave him an apologetic smile and sat back down. “Sorry.”

Nick sucked in a deep breath through his nostrils and turned over, blinking at the southerner for long moments before he found the energy to sit up. His hair slipped forward and into his bowed face. When he swiped it back it was with trembling hands.

“It’s fine,” he told the other man. “Should probably eat… I can always sleep after.”

“A’course,” Ellis agreed. “I’ll be real quiet.”

The older survivor just grunted and rose, ducking into the bathroom to clean his mouth, face, and empty his bladder. He did it all with the door open and the mechanic made sure to keep his back turned.

He was silent as he took his meal. It was a pretty good breakfast with sausage, hash browns, eggs, and toast. He was a bit surprised at it, but figured the perishables needed to be cooked and devoured before they spoiled anyway. It was much better than the food from the night before and Ellis tried to slow himself to enjoy it.

Nick didn’t. He inhaled practically everything on his plate and sucked down the box of apple juice provided. The water bottle he left on the dresser where he could reach it. He ditched the tray on the floor with a slight clatter and then quickly slipped back under the thin blanket, turning his back to Ellis to resume his slumber.

Sometime during the night he’d also discarded his shirt. Ellis had done a good job of not staring too hard at the scratches along his pectoral, nor the hair curled over both and lower. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen him shirtless before. It wasn’t like he hadn’t _touched_ him before. It was just that now, in a quiet moment of safety when he had the time to admire, it made more than his gut warm.

It was diminished a bit when he caught sight of his back. The doctors had probably had his stitches covered while he was with them, but now his sewn wound was exposed, ostensibly to allow it to breathe. The scratches were long, like he remembered, but they hadn’t been deep enough for him to have worried too badly after the man when he’d first cleaned and wrapped them.

It seemed like they were healing well judging by the normal color of the surrounding skin. He’d probably be able to get them removed in a few more days, though he was really just basing that on his knowledge of Keith’s wounds. Then again, his best friend had always been a fast healer and he’d never had to worry about withdrawals on top of it.

For a long time he watched the older man’s back and the way it moved with each deep breath. At some point he figured that was a bit creepy, especially if he were to be caught, so he rose to find something else to focus on. Since there wasn’t much else he tried the television to, at the very least, know the time.

He got much more than that when the screen flicked to life and displayed a goddamn actual television show. Ellis almost shouted in joy, never mind that it seemed to be some cooking program. He’d watch anything if it meant he didn’t have to count the bricks of the wall or listen to his own brain for a while.

There were only a few channels to switch through and most of those were dead air. In the end he didn’t mind people making food he might never taste again. His other choices had been some soap opera or a channel he figured had been set up by the base. It was like a power point a teacher might scroll through, with what little information they’d gathered about the outside world’s situation, the infected, and the expected hygienic practices inside the base.

Needless to say, by the time lunch came Ellis knew how to make stuffed peppers.

He also had to wake Nick again, though this time he knew he’d have to keep him that way if the man had been planning on sleeping that night.

Lunch wasn’t anything remarkable, just turkey sandwiches with little bags of chips. It was the can of soda on the side that Ellis was most excited about. He saved it for last, setting upon the sandwich first. Nick did the same, his hands still shaking and his eyes set on the screen above them. He hadn’t commented on it, just seemed grateful to have something to focus on while he filled his belly.

Like Ellis he’d also saved his can for last. He sat back with it, propping his lower back with the pillow so that he’d have empty space behind his shoulders where his stiches were. For long minutes they sipped their drinks in silence and watched the show. When he started coughing, Ellis put his legs over the side of his bed to face him.

“You okay?”

“Peachy.”

“Y’sure? How ‘boutchyer back?”

“Feels like it’s full of stitches.”

Ellis chewed at his bottom lip. “Anythin’ I’kin do?”

“Of course there isn’t,” his roommate snipped. “Patch and pills don’t work and once this caffeine wears off—” here he held up his soda can “—I’m going back to sleep.”

The mechanic grimaced a bit. “Y’should stay awake or y’won’t be able’ta sleep tonight.”

Nick shot him a dark look. “Ellis, you ever go through any sort of withdrawals? Right now I wanna peel my skin off and scratch what’s underneath. Or willingly submit to trepanation. You get that?”

“Sure,” he said though he really didn’t. He was sure that one of those words was gibberish. “…Just don’t wantchyou up all night.”

“Thanks, mom,” the other man snarked. He jerked his chin back to the tv, lasted a few seconds of whisking, and then expelled a great burst of air. “Fuck. Told you I was gonna be a dick.”

“It’s okay,” Ellis said preemptively. It would take a lot more than that to bring him down from having company _and _something to watch. “We’kin find’a way’ta distract ya. Like… uh… we’kin change it an’ watch the soap opera. Bet we’kin make fun’uv that.”

He picked up the remote and glanced up to see if the conman was on board with the idea. There was a gentle smile waiting for him that he couldn’t help but return.

“You’re pretty easy to entertain, aren’t you?”

Ellis chuckled with him and turned the channel.

For the rest of that day and the two following they passed time much the same. For his teasing Nick was the most vocal in their little game. Often, Ellis ended up holding his stomach and running to the bathroom before he could piss himself. That seemed to cheer the older man enough for him to smile more often than he frowned.

It was also easier to see the way his trembles decreased, to see the dark circles under his eyes disappear, to see a healthy color return to his face once he found the energy to shave. He still had headaches, but he was snapping less and less. He found it more tolerable to have the big overhead lights on. Even his coughs had gotten clearer. Ellis didn’t know how long it took for people to recover from an addiction, but he thought his friend was doing a damn good job of it considering their situation.

When he said as much Nick rolled his eyes dismissively, the way a man does when he’s embarrassed by any praise given to him. He tried to deny it even further by claiming he hadn’t been that heavy of a smoker. Ellis rebounded by flat out telling him he was still proud.

He did let the matter drop when Nick threatened to, somehow, bash his head in with his pillow, though.

The day when he wasn’t the first to wake, he knew for certain his friend was feeling better. The fact that the big body was on the floor doing push-ups assured that.

Ellis laid there for a few moments, unintentionally holding his breath as he watched the muscles below him work. Nick had apparently been at it for a bit if his breathing was any indication. He wished he’d thought of exercising amid all his panic in the first few days, but he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t appreciate seeing his one-time lover doing it first.

As such he couldn’t think of a reason to look away, not even when Nick sat back on his haunches. He just watched the expansion of his chest before noticing that one thick brow was quirked at him. That cocky smile followed.

And, stupidly, Ellis blurted: “That hurt with your stitches?”

Nick chuffed and shook his head as he got to his feet. “Pretty sure they can come out. It’ll be nice to lay on my back again.”

He nodded and it felt weak. Almost as weak as his brain functions. Before he could embarrass himself again he rose, his back to his roommate, and slipped into the bathroom. He couldn’t take as long as he wanted in the shower, so a quick, freezing one had to suffice. He did manage to waste more time brushing his teeth and cataloguing his appearance in the mirror, though.

Like his roommate he also looked better. The bruises on his face had faded, especially the one over the bridge of his nose. The slight swelling had gone down as well, though he’d always have a light scar as a reminder.

He was thumbing it as he walked out of the bathroom, stepping aside when Nick moved to get into the tiny area.

“That healed good,” he commented as he passed.

Ellis managed to hum in the affirmative before the bathroom door closed. Then, before plopping back down, he grabbed the remote. It was too early for the other shows, but he didn’t mind watching people make food while they waited on theirs.

Nick rejoined him only a few moments later, crossing around and up to the little dresser that separated their beds. He was half-facing Ellis so that he could look at the screen even as he reached down to open the drawer to grab one of the big t-shirts inside.

“I’m not huge on sweets,” he said, “but right now I’d probably eat that entire cake.” He shot a small smile at his roommate and then hooked his arms through the fabric in his hands.

Ellis’ hand moved faster than his mind because it shot out to stop him.

Nick paused, dipping his chin to look him in the eye. He slackened his grip, making it easy for the other man to pull the shirt off his forearms if that was what he wanted. It was, though the tremble seemed to have moved into his fingers now as he tossed it over the cabinet.

He sat up slowly then, dragging himself to the edge of the bed so that his feet were flat on the floor. So that he could look up at the taller man. Nick let him, watching patiently, arms at his side and seemingly waiting for instruction. Ellis put his hands onto his hips, suggesting a pull more than actively doing it, but the big man stepped into the space between his legs anyway, lips quirked.

The mechanic wanted to kiss them, but that big body stayed as it was. He needed to make the move and since he couldn’t reach, he shifted his palms forward, feeling the way the muscles beneath them fit over bone. From there he went over, putting his dominant hand at the trail of hair beneath his navel to follow up. The shiver was still there, but Nick wasn’t commenting on it, no matter that it shouldn’t have been because he’d done this before.

He’d _touched _Nick before—and then some. But now they were alone. Now he could recall his teammate’s warmth and touch and voice. He could recall his promise to kiss Ellis all over when they were clean and safe.

And now with him feeling better… well, he had to wonder if Nick could hear the way his heart was thudding.

Or feel it in his fingers as he followed the hair upwards.

The older man must have, because he cupped Ellis’ jaw and tilted his head back, making it easier for him to bend into a kiss. The southerner straightened up for it, letting himself be maneuvered and savored. He returned the caress, opening his lips when Nick deepened it, eyes fluttering when his bottom lip was licked and then suckled.

That’s what made him more confident in moving his hands, what made his arms wrap around his roommate’s waist and splay his palms out so he could pull that weight in. Nick in turn hooked his fingers under Ellis’ arms and lifted, inching him back on his bed so he could follow, one leg at a time on either side of his lap.

He might’ve been self-conscious at how hard it made him if he weren’t so enraptured by the body atop him and the hands roving through his hair.

He followed their guidance, pressing his mouth to that strong stomach. He felt his teeth graze over the skin there and traced it almost apologetically with a drag of his bottom lip. Nick seemed to like that because he tugged again, directing him upwards. Ellis went easily, having the sudden absurd desire to rub the bridge of his nose through the middle of where his chest hair was thickest.

The northerner hauled him off, though, leaning down to gift a kiss before pushing him down into the mattress by the shoulders. It took a little repositioning to get them both fully onto the skinny cot, but Ellis wasn’t going to complain about the cramped space since Nick’s mass was atop him, slowly undulating and hot between his spread thighs.

Somehow even better than feeling the older man grow hard against him was the soft laughs they traded as often as they did kisses.

One of Nick’s hands gripped around his thigh, squeezed and hefted it so he’d hook his ankle into the small of his back. Ellis put his arms over his shoulders in retaliation, a haphazard movement that he followed with an urgency in chasing the thin lips above him. He only realized it was a bad idea when his fingers brushed over stitches.

He drew away instantly. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Nick murmured, angling down to speak the words against a thudding pulse point. “They don’t hurt… bet they’ll take them out soon. Then you can scratch all you want.”

Ellis laughed but tilted his head to the side so teeth and tongue could touch whatever they wanted. “I didn’t scratch you before. That was’a Hunter. Y’losin’ yer memory in your old age?”

His teammate reared back to look at his face. “Did you just call me old, you little shit?”

The mechanic grinned and put his hands at the safe spot atop the broad shoulders. “Naw, yer hearin’ must be goin’.”

Nick released the leg in his grip so he could prop himself up. “You sure?”

“Must be.”

“I didn’t _say_ you scratched me on the boat—no, I’m pretty sure I remember that this was here.” He drew Ellis’ hand up and tangled it in the back of his hair. “I was here.” He sunk back down, returning to his administrations at the smaller man’s neck. “And _you_ were moaning.”

Ellis was glad he couldn’t see his face for how near it felt to boiling. He wanted to say something witty back, to keep up with the banter, but his voice came out as a weak and half-hearted call of the gambler’s name.

And then the intercom buzzed to life with the sound of Grady’s voice, startling them apart.

“Breakfast.”

Nick groaned and hefted himself up again. “You and I are really good at getting interrupted.”

The southerner shot him a shaky smile and the moment he could slipped out from under him. His timing couldn’t have been better because not a moment later the soldier’s mask popped into view.

The intercom went off again. “I said: breakfast. Get over here and give me your dinner trays.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick snipped, though it was Ellis who moved forward to obey, even if he did it with a little hunch forward.

The food was the same as it had been the last few mornings, but anybody who’d complain about bacon was a damn fool. He might have been a bit of one though because at the moment he was almost tempted to set it aside and let it cool now that no other interruptions would be coming until lunch. He didn’t because Nick made the choice for him, taking his tray to recline back on his bed and eat.

Ellis briefly considered sitting next to him but opted to keep facing him as they’d taken their other meals.

When he glanced up after his first bite he wondered if he’d made a mistake with the frown leveled his way. He swallowed and opened his mouth to ask, but Nick cut him off by pointing at his tray.

“They gave you extra juice?”

Ellis looked down to see that not only had they given him extra, they’d given him three extra little boxes of orange and apple. “Maybe it was a mix up? Y’want one?”

His friend shook his head, eying the little drinks. He only had the standard two, as well as another pill for his headaches lying beside them. “Maybe they’re hedging all their bets on the kids.”

“So you agree thatchyer old?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Did I _feel _old?”

It made the bassist sputter, made him want to throw the tray from atop his lap, but one big hand raised and stopped him.

“Eat your food while it’s hot,” his roommate laughed. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Needless to say, he ate much faster than Nick did. He did end up saving two of the juice boxes, placing them atop their little dresser so he could put the tray near the door for pickup. His friend was chuckling at him all the while, purposefully enjoying his meal slower than Ellis had ever seen him eat. By the end of it he was swooping in to take his tray just so he could crowd close.

“Jesus Christ, Ellis,” the conman chuffed. His hands were heavy where they landed on his hips though, and he all but pulled Ellis atop his lap. Still, when they kissed he turned his face away to laugh again. “You taste like bacon.”

“So do you,” the southerner retorted. He buried the fingers of one of his hands in Nick’s hair, just to test his softness. He liked that, and Ellis knew it, but if he hadn’t the way his teammate’s head tilted back to follow the motion would’ve tipped him off. But he remembered that moment on the boat, had agonized over it in instances he probably shouldn’t have, and he found he liked tracing the dark waves beneath his palms just as much as his roommate liked receiving it.

Nick grumbled, that low sweet sound from the base of his throat and retaliated with his own pleasure inducing touch. His lips fell upon each pane of the younger man’s throat, lingered at his adam’s apple before trailing downward. They only found a bit of collarbone, however, before the sleek feel of them was suppressed by fabric.

Ellis reached behind himself, catching the back of his t-shirt and pulling it up so he could toss it aside. His partner in the meantime took advantage of the new skin exposed to him, readily running his hands up and down and around the tapered waist in front of him. When hands fell back into his hair, he canted his gaze upwards.

“In a rush?”

The younger man smiled, trying to will away his bashfulness. He started by anchoring his hands on thick shoulders and squeezing. “Y’made a lotta promises on that boat. Said we needed’ta find a shower an’ someplace safe…”

“Well, I’m not too sure about safe,” Nick mumbled against his skin, “but I wouldn’t wanna disappoint you.”

Ellis didn’t think he could, and to say that he was proven right would mean he’d need breath, of which, by the time they were done, he was in short supply. To his delight, though, Nick’s had become deeper, too. It was painting a warm swath along the southerner’s forehead for how close they had to lie in the cot.

He also enjoyed the heavy arm curled around his middle, allowing one sturdy hand to mold against his spine and keep him tethered to the moment.

For the statement’s worth, Ellis had thought he’d be the one to disappoint. When Nick had sunk down on him, kissing as he went, hands exploring his hips and thighs and _spreading_ them so he could caress and lick between, he’d been too excited to acknowledge the conman’s admittance of his lack of experience in the matter. He hadn’t sucked many guys, apparently, but it sure hadn’t felt that way to Ellis who had been glad for the sound-diminishing bricks around them.

Thing was, the mechanic had _never _sucked another guy before, so he probably should’ve been the one apologizing. He hadn’t gotten the chance to, though, not with how his teammate had been guiding him with words and touches. Not with how he’d been _praising _him.

And he guessed he hadn’t been half bad, not if Nick needed to practically mop his face with the discarded t-shirt to get it clean.

Now, he only wished the gray eyes weren’t closed. That always made it a little easier to get the older man to smile. To get a glimpse at what he was thinking.

Both of Ellis’ hands were curled between their bodies for lack of anywhere else comfortable to put them. The knuckles of his right hand were closer, and gingerly he shifted them so that they could rub against the coarse chest hairs he’d wanted to feel more closely. They’d been a little too excited to take their time, but maybe they wouldn’t have to worry about having more of it.

Nick sighed, though it was half a hum and fogged with a contended drowsiness the younger man likewise felt within himself. “Bed’s too small.”

Ellis didn’t want to agree or make a sound that could be taken as agreement, or even _move_ for fear that it would have that big body rising. When the arm moved from around him, it felt like the loss of warmth was just as much in his chest as it was on his skin. Luckily for him, Nick rolled over momentarily, and when he turned back, he had the two extra juice boxes between his fingers.

He let the younger man choose first, so he snagged up the apple and scooted back until his ass hit the cold wall. Nick kindly put his blanket over their lower halves as a deterrent because it was the only way to create space enough for the little boxes between them. He bet it was a sight to anybody else—two grown men, flushed and sweaty, sipping at juice boxes.

When Ellis laughed at it, his two-times lover didn’t need to ask. He just smiled, shook his head, and drained his tiny drink in one go. Then he tossed the empty box towards their trays and laid back down. The southerner wasn’t long in following his example. When he dropped his hand back down between them, his knuckles weren’t brushed away when he resumed his petting.

He must’ve dozed after that, because next he knew the television was jolting them both out of the warm little cocoon they’d created.

“What in the hell?” he asked, raising his head up from where he’d apparently tucked it against his bedmate.

The video on the screen was the same one that had been playing before his visit to the doctors for his testing. It instructed patients to bathe and shave, though it didn’t make it clear for which of them it was intended. When it was finished, Nick raised one thick eyebrow at him, and Ellis immediately lamented that his teammate would be shaving yet again. Not that he’d say out loud how much he’d liked the rasp of stubble against his skin.

Since they weren’t sure, though the gambler figured it was him because of his stitches, they both took their turns in the bathroom. Then they redressed and waited, each on their beds facing one another, their masks in their hands. When their intercom buzzed, they found that Nick was half-right. The soldiers made them both don their masks so they could them march from the room.

“What’s goin’ on?” Ellis asked them.

“You’re going to see the doctors,” Herrera answered.

“No shit,” the conman snapped. “_Why_ are we going to see them?”

The short soldier took a step forward, but Grady all but knocked him back. He pointed at Nick. “You’re with me. Dr. Powell wants those stitches out.”

“And what about him?”

“Don’t know why that’s your business.” Herrera’s voice was accusatory and it set the southerner’s nerves alight.

Before he could get in another biting remark, the big soldier nudged at his partner again. “Man, c’mon.” Then he turned to the patients. “Dr. Cheng asked to see him; we don’t know any more than that, okay? Good? Great, let’s get going.”

Neither of the men had brandished their weapons, but the survivors shared an understanding look anyway and walked until they were ushered their separate ways.


	6. Chapter Five: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And did you ever purposefully put yourself in harm’s way to help your friends?”
> 
> Ellis passed a finger over his new band-aid and thought. “’Course I did. Like the time with the Tank on the bridge… an’ the one after the bridge. I wanted everybody’ta be safe, so I went for it.”
> 
> She nodded and he couldn’t figure out for the life of him why that was important to write down.

Dr. Cheng’s eyes were smiling at him when he entered the small room where she was waiting. It was cozier and more welcoming than the last, though somehow still very pristine and off-putting. She motioned him to sit on the exam table and he did, grateful that it looked like the ones he’d always seen during his check-ups as a kid. As before, Herrera took up his position by the door, arms crossed over his front.

“Ma’am,” Ellis greeted politely.

He could tell, even with the mask on her face, that the smile was still there. “How are you, Ellis?”

“I’m alright,” he reported.

“And your friend?”

“He’s okay, too… Really appreciate y’all puttin’ him in my room.”

The doctor nodded. “Dr. Powell told me he was very demanding about your whereabouts.”

The southerner did well not to blush, though it was easier when he realized she probably meant all three of them and not _just_ him—no matter how his heart had squirmed at the thought. “We’re all better together.”

She turned to a chart she had on the counter beside her. “And how are you physically? Nothing to report?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” and there was nothing but honesty in her voice. “First, I wanted to tell you that all of your tests came back normal and healthy.”

“All’uv ‘em?” he asked. “…What about bein’ a carrier?”

“…Yes.” She opened one of the cabinets and began to take out some supplies. Among them was some kind of a needle in a packet, long rubber tubes, and a similar rubber pack that looked like an IV. Since it was empty, he could only guess what was supposed to go inside. “We’ve been working with carrier blood for different tests. You’re one of our healthiest patients so I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to donate some.”

It felt like he’d been staring straight into the sun for how rapid his eyelids blinked as he processed all that information. “…Yer usin’ it for testin’?”

“We’re attempting to reproduce the semi-immunity carriers have,” she explained. “It’ll take a while and so I don’t have to keep sticking you, I’ll need to have a larger sample size to draw from. Does that make sense?”

She wasn’t asking unkindly, in fact the tone of her voice reminded him of one of his middle school teachers who had always worked through the math problems he’d struggled with. “I think so,” he responded. “You’re sayin’ if we give blood you’kin maybe find a cure eventually?”

“That’s the ultimate goal.”

Her words were a little overwhelming, as a hypothetical cure to save the world might be. He swallowed against the sensation of it, straightening his spine as if that would help ward off the urge to buckle under the implausibility of the situation. He wasn’t all that smart, but as far as he could figure it made sense that their blood would be used to help. That’s what always happened in the movies and those had to be at least _inspired _by real facts.

And if he had a chance to save the world, to have it return to normal, and to, most importantly, protect his friends and family needed to take it.

Or give it in this case.

“If that’s what it takes… then hell yeah y’kin take some blood!” Then, of course _after _he’d already opened his mouth, another thought came to him. “Uh… how much? I didn’t just verbally agree’ta let myself be drained, did I?”

“No,” she chuckled. “It’ll be like a normal donation—which is normally a pint.”

“That ain’t a lot?”

“The human body has ten, but afterwards people are able to have a snack and go back to work. In our case you can go back and rest which will allow your body to regenerate the cells all the faster.”

The way she said it made it sound like a boon and apology both in one. Ellis gave a polite smile out of habit, and the doctor seemed to see it in his eyes because she nodded and began the procedure. The southerner had never given blood before—honestly, he’d always figured he’d needed most of it in his body what with being best friends with Keith and all. None of them had ever known what their next stunt would entail and how much recovery time the ginger would need.

It was pretty simple, though. Dr. Cheng put a little sponge ball in his hand to squeeze so she could find a vein and once the needle and tube was in place he just had to sit back for several minutes while the bag filled. The only downside was that he knew he was going to grow bored staring at the walls after about thirty seconds.

The doctor seemed to have anticipated this, however, because she turned back to him with a chart. The glimpse he caught of it showed that it was mostly blank.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions while we wait?”

Ellis repositioned in his seat. “Don’t see why not.”

“Thank you,” she said. Her head turned minutely. “Herrera, if you wouldn’t mind standing guard outside?”

The soldier seemed to be paralyzed for a moment and it was obvious he was trying to decide whether or not he should follow the order. He must’ve decided it was wiser to do so, because he slipped out of the room without voicing the internal protest that had caused his hesitation.

Dr. Cheng looked back to him and then down at the chart. “There we go, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Just in case any of the questions feel too personal.”

Ellis frowned at that. “How personal?”

“Nothing too bad, and if you don’t want to answer a question we move to the next. I promise there are only a few. In all honesty, I’m more interested in how you and your friends got here safely.”

The mechanic squeezed the ball. “…Guess there’s no harm in that.”

She seemed to be telling the truth about her interests considering she practically forgot to write any of his story down. She had plenty of questions about where they started, how they met, and what made them work together. It had been a little hard for her to believe there’d been no hesitance on their part to act as a team, save Nick for a little bit at first. After that she only interjected questions here and there, primarily about the infected and how they functioned on the outside, which meant she must’ve been whisked out of danger before seeing any of it.

He tried to explain the mutations as best he could, but he knew there was a lot to be desired in his retelling. The doctor would be better off asking Rochelle; she probably would have been damn good at telling the story in a factual way instead of the impassioned performance Ellis felt like he was giving.

But then again maybe she liked his version because she started up with the questions again towards the end of it. It helped take his focus off her removing the needle and tubes and sealing the bag for safe keeping.

“The four of you really stuck your necks out for each other.”

“Damn right we did! We practically became a family that first day.”

“Did you find yourselves saving each other often?”

“Psh, all the time! From Hunters an’ Smokers an’ Jockeys!” And plenty more besides. “Wouldn’ta made it through without each other.”

“And did you ever purposefully put yourself in harm’s way to help your friends?”

Ellis passed a finger over his new band-aid and thought. “’Course I did. Like the time with the Tank on the bridge… an’ the one _after _the bridge. I wanted everybody’ta be safe, so I went for it.”

She nodded and he couldn’t figure out for the life of him why that was important to write down. It looked pretty quick, like squiggles more than the English language, but wasn’t there a joke that doctors had bad handwriting? And it probably was for a reason, because when she stood she was putting the chart down out of reach.

Even without seeing her face he knew she wasn’t sure how to ask what he assumed were the more personal questions.

“Is it safe to say you’re in a relationship with Mr. Caruso?”

Ellis let out a nervous puff of laughter. It was reactionary, half towards the question and half towards the sound of Nick as Mr. Caruso. The little silence that followed, though? That was all because he wasn’t sure how to answer. Or if he should.

Finally, he managed: “Uh…we’re _somethin’_.”

“Something,” she repeated patiently. “Something sexual?”

The patient nodded, hating how hot and stuffy his mask suddenly felt. Hating how quickly his defenses rose.

“Alright,” Dr. Cheng said smoothly, her tone both accepting and soothing.

“Alright?”

“Yes, of course. I’d assumed as much—it’s why I put you together.”

The mechanic blinked at her. “Does everybody know?”

“Only the doctors.”

Ellis had a hunch the two soldiers who were always around might’ve been aware, too. Especially if they’d looked in through their window today… or had spied any of the marks they’d left on one another’s skin. But, if they weren’t going to say anything, neither was he. He just hoped it would stay that way. Especially considering the bet he’d made with the gambler.

“Thank you again, Ellis. I know none of this is easy.”

“Naw,” he agreed, more than happy to change the subject, “but I betchyer workin’ real hard so I don’t think I got any room’ta complain.”

“We are,” she promised. “Take it easy for the rest of the day… we shouldn’t need to do anymore draws for a while with this sample size.”

“That’s good,” he said awkwardly, unsure of a better response. Then, feeling a little silly, he held up the ball still in his hand. “Can I keep this?”

“Sure,” Dr. Cheng laughed and then opened the door for him where Herrera was waiting.

Nick had finished before him and the moment the door locked behind him Ellis snapped the little, blue ball in his direction. To his delight, the northerner snatched it up like it was second nature. Then he looked to it curiously.

“They took more blood?”

Ellis nodded and hung his mask over the rack as they’d taken to doing. When he stepped to his roommate he watched in amusement as he began to toss the ball to himself. By the look on his handsome face he was connecting a few dots.

“Guess I wasn’t too far off when I said they were hedging their bets on the youngest and healthiest.” He tossed the ball back.

Ellis caught it and shrugged. “Said a blood sample could help’em develop a cure.”

“Mm.” The older man reached out to skim his fingertips along his roommate’s tattoo. “Anything else? You okay?”

“Just that an’ some questions,” the southerner replied, moving into his reach. “What aboutchyou? Didjya guess right aboutchyer stitches?”

Nick nodded and turned so he could hike up the back of his shirt to confirm it. There were smooth lines of fresh, pink scars and small, dotted punctures encasing them where the stitches had held firm. Ellis ran his fingers up over them and when his friend didn’t react trusted that they’d healed over cleanly.

“Guess you can scratch and grab all you want now,” he teased.

Ellis pursed his lips, took the fabric from his grip, and tried to get it over his head to make it easier for him to wrestle onto the bed.

The ball had opened a new avenue for them to alleviate their boredom, though Ellis had followed his teammate’s example and began exercising again, too. There were only a few exercises they could do, but it felt good to at least be a little active. Not to mention he was pretty fond of watching Nick go through the motions.

And the conman never hid how much he liked watching, either.

So, for the next few days things went slowly, but overall it didn’t feel as dull as the first two had. Especially not when their game of soap opera was interspaced with seeing who would smack who in the face with the toy when they were unaware.

And then when they were in, by his count, a little over a week, they were beckoned from their room again. This time, however, it didn’t seem like they were the only ones. In the hallway they were urged into a line of fellow carriers without so much of a pause. Ellis couldn’t even turn to _see _Coach, let alone say anything to him though he was relieved to feel his presence at their backs.

One of the soldiers near the front announced were taking them to get some fresh air. The southerner hadn’t thought to question it, but Nick’s fingers curled around his wrist in alarm as they walked.

“I don’t like this.”

“Wha--? Y’think they’re lyin’?”

“I think I don’t like it,” the older man hissed. His head whipped around as they shuffled through the long hallways. “We find an exit and we need to go.”

“They’ll shoot us,” Ellis told him.

“Might shoot all’uv us,” Coach agreed. “But this turns south we gotta take the risk.”

The mechanic, who was in front nodded stiffly, chewing on his bottom lip as he looked around for anything that looked like a way out. When he found it there was no need for them to make a mad dash for it. The long line of men in front of him were being led outside into the bright daylight.

Nick’s fingers curled into the material of his shirt at the small of his back tightly right before they stepped out, too.

But there wasn’t anything nefarious awaiting them. There wasn’t a firing squad or zombies or anything but a walled in yard made mostly of concrete where other survivors milled about to make room. There weren’t many of them, and he guessed his and his teammates were three of about fifty-something men.

The soldiers took up their place by the doors, assuring them that they could take their time to catch up with one another without a worry for their safety. Nick didn’t buy it, not if the way his gray eyes instantly roved to the two guard towers where more army personnel were stationed. Ellis, however, remembered what Dr. Cheng had promised him, so he spun the instant he could to embrace their leader.

Coach patted his back fatherly. “You two alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, patting right back.

Then the big man surprised them both by pulling Nick into a hug. The gambler gave an annoyed grunt but returned it without further fanfare.

“Glad they put you boys together,” Coach murmured, stepping back so he could look them over. “They givin’ you more food than me? ‘Cause you two look much better than I feel.”

“I doubt there could ever be enough food for you,” the northerner snarked, because of course he did.

At the very least their oldest teammate laughed it off.

“They take you for any extra tests after the first?”

Coach shook his head, his forehead creasing as he nodded between them. “They take one’uv you?”

“They took extra blood from Ellis. I’m guessing it’s because he’s one of their healthier specimens.”

“Hey, I ain’t no lab rat,” the bassist chimed in lowly. “Bet she asked other people, she juss didn’t want no sleazy conman blood.”

“Funny,” Nick sneered, using his middle finger to scratch an imaginary itch on his forehead. He, at least, took the younger survivor’s shove good-naturedly.

Coach didn’t look as convinced as they did, but he pursed his lips together rather than speak. His dark eyes surveyed the other men around them, not surprised to find they were being watched in turn. “Don’t like the looks of this.”

“That’s because it’s practically a prison yard,” the gambler informed him. “Trust me, I’d know.”

“What’re they bringing us out here for?”

“’Cause people go crazy if they don’t see the sun. They don’t want people to start ramming their heads into walls.”

Ellis flattened his palm against his crown, wincing at the mental image. He was distracted from it, though, when the soldiers began yelling. They were ushering the closest survivors away from the doors, which had the southerner and his friends shimmying nearer to the perimeter of the yard.

Now cleared, the metal doors opened again. Ellis didn’t miss the way his elders situated themselves in front of him, subtle as it was. He would’ve said something, but the sight he spied between their bodies had his jaw dropping too fast to get the words out.

There weren’t many female survivors, but the fourteen or so that there were walked out into the yard single file. An excited murmur began among the men, but the soldiers kept the two groups divided until the doors were shut again. Then they resumed their guard.

The two groups expanded outward almost immediately, taking up what space they could find in the yard. Ellis couldn’t see over most of the bodies, but Coach and Nick were craning their heads this way and that until they spotted her.

“Rochelle!”

The youngest survivor was moving the moment he saw the direction of their leader’s eyes, squeezing between his friends to practically sprint in that direction. He didn’t feel so bad though when he saw Ro doing the same towards him. When she neared, they threw their arms around each other and he lifted her as high as he could off the ground.

She laughed in overjoyed relief near his ear, though it was muffled by her mask.

“We were so worried aboutchya,” he told her, squeezing tight. When he put her feet back on the earth she squeezed back.

“Right back at you.” She backed up to look at what she could of his face. “You’re alright?”

He nodded and surveyed her, too. She looked just as healthy as the rest of them. Her bruises and cuts had healed and she’d obviously been able to shower, not that she had ever smelled as bad as the rest of her friends. Like them she’d been fed and it seemed to be enough because, besides Coach, none of them looked as if they had lost too many pounds.

The big man stepped up beside them, then, taking their smallest member from his arms so he could crouch low and hug her. “Baby girl, I’m so glad to see you.”

Rochelle looped her arms around his neck and held tight. “Me, too.”

When it was Nick’s turn, he surprised all three of his teammates by wrapping both his arms around her and putting his cheek against her hair.

“Thank God, I thought I was stuck with these two.”

She laughed and leant into the embrace until he took it away.

“You’re okay?”

“Well,” she sighed, looking between them. “I’ve had my fill of soap operas for a lifetime, but it got better when they gave me pens and paper.”

“Wha? They gave you stuff?” Ellis barked. “Herrera always tells us’ta shut up!”

“Herrera’s a soldier?” she asked.

“Ro’s probably got women patrolling,” Coach told their youngest member. “Ten times nicer than ours.”

She nodded. “Carmen and Jen.”

“First name basis, too. Think they gave us the biggest asshole in the base,” Nick complained.

“Guess they’ve got to counteract your sass with something,” the other northerner retorted quickly.

Ellis laughed loudly mainly because his roommate seemed to find the comment just as hilarious. Or maybe he was being a little lenient since they were all back together. No matter what it was, it felt good for all their voices to mix together again.

They got two hours of time together that afternoon. They spent it walking around the yard and then sitting in an open space away from the others. There they each recounted their experiences, though for much of it Nick let Ellis talk since theirs had been shared the last few days.

Rochelle gave them a knowing look at that, but only commented that she was glad they weren’t forced into solitary quarters. For her part she wasn’t so upset to be alone. Her first days had been hard at first, but she’d found it easier once the televisions had turned on. It was even more so when they’d given her a notebook and pen. Apparently, she’d been writing down their entire journey and everything she could quantify about the infected.

She wasn’t done yet, but Ellis envied her for doing something productive with her time. He felt a little foolish for how he’d spent his all but basking in Nick’s company. He hadn’t given a thought, besides his worry for his friends and family, towards doing anything as heroic.

Guiltily, he’d even thought how glad he was for the private quarters every time he’d kissed the other man.

Having had the time together, it wasn’t as hard as it was the first time to part ways. The army seemed to be keeping their word towards their safety. Hell, the women even seemed to have it better than they did, which felt right to him. He did hug her again before they took the ladies back inside, though. When he spared a look around he knew he wasn’t the only one both relieved but sad to see one of their friends go.

He gave Coach another hug again because he knew he wouldn’t be able to when they were led back to their rooms. Seeing them both helped him to sleep that night without so much stress and anxiety pinning him to the mattress.

For the next two days they were given the visitation time with the female survivors. Ellis relished it, enjoying the moments he got to spend learning about Coach and Rochelle while sitting thigh to thigh with Nick. Their leader didn’t comment on their closeness and the mechanic thought it best not to question it, though his roommate openly did so when they were alone.

Ellis had noticed the quick looks, as he was sure Nick had, but in their situation the eldest survivor had probably decided he needed to pick the battles he could win. Besides that, for the first time since those guns had been pointed at them after hopping off that helicopter, he felt more hope than anything else pumping throughout his system.

At least until the third day when he wasn’t allowed to go outside with Nick.

Not too long before the time they’d normally go their intercom had buzzed to life. Naturally, they both rose to retrieve their masks but an unfamiliar voice gave them pause a moment after they’d fastened them in place.

“Just McKinney.” Obviously, the man was neither Herrera nor Grady.

“The fuck you mean just McKinney?” Nick demanded.

“Dr. Reid wants to see him.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“It’s none of your business _or _mine,” the soldier spat. “Masks on, hands to the wall.”

“Horseshit,” Nick snapped right back.

It was probably the wrong thing to say if the gun that got right in his face the moment their door opened was any indication.

“Against the wall now, asshole.”

Ellis reached out before Nick could make a mistake, snagging the crook of his elbow and yanking him back. “Man, it ain’t worth it.”

“He just gave you fuckers blood,” his teammate snarled over his shoulder. Still, he let himself be moved to the furthest part of their room.

“You gonna shut your mouth or do I have to tase you?” the soldier snapped. He put his rifle down so he could make a point of brandishing the other threat.

“He’s fine,” Ellis assured, angling himself so his torso was in the way. He had to push the strong body behind him back one more time before he was free to walk to the stranger. “We’re all fine.” He held his hands up at shoulder level and stepped out.

The soldier followed and locked the door behind them quickly. His mask turned away before he could make eye contact with Nick who had pressed up against the glass to watch them go. Ellis gave him a small wave to try to convey that it would be fine, that he had Dr. Cheng’s word, but that wasn’t so easy to say with his palm.

He was led in silence to a different part of the base than before. He guessed this is where Dr. Reid preferred to see his patients, though when Ellis stepped into the room there wasn’t any indication of a smile, not even a polite one, like there’d been with Dr. Cheng. There was another soldier inside the room with him, shorter than the one who had retrieved him. He motioned one gloved hand at the seat nearby.

It looked exactly like the one he’d had to sit in to get his blood drawn three days ago.

“Uh,” he said eloquently. “Dr. Cheng already got a sample from me…”

He wasn’t sure how often the two talked, but if they were both working together towards a cure it had to be pretty much all the time, right? Maybe she was busy with something and he’d agreed to help her?

But then he remembered back on how he’d denied Nick any anesthesia and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

“I’m aware,” Dr. Reid replied, not unkindly. “Mr. McKinney, if you wouldn’t mind, another sample could allow us to double our work output.”

“It would? I mean… I gave a pint; I’m sure Dr. Cheng would share if y’asked.”

That startled a laugh out of one of the soldiers, though it was silenced when his superior shot him a dark look.

“It’s true that we collaborate but my earlier statement still stands.”

Ellis stayed where he was, glancing to each of the men in turn above his mask. He wanted to reply, but with how rooted he felt under the gaze of where he assumed their eyes to be his mind went blank. He wasn’t sure about what the doctor was saying to him. The most he’d ever learned in health class was CPR, not about engineering medical cures for apocalyptic viruses.

In what felt like the deepest pit of his stomach he wanted to deny them. But he was fearful of saying no to helping such important research. That would make him a bad person, wouldn’t it?

“Did all the others say no?” he asked.

Dr. Reid was silent for a long time. A very long time. Long enough for Ellis to begin fidgeting.

Then, finally, he said: “I see.” He made an inquisitive sound. “I’ll be honest that you’re considered our first draw candidate due to your good health.”

“Y’sure? I’ve eaten a _lotta_ buffalo wings in my life.”

“I’m sure,” the virologist chuckled, and even Ellis could hear how forced it sounded. It ended curtly when he pointed at the chair in the center of the room.

And with the two soldiers stepping up to either side of his shoulders, the survivor didn’t have anywhere to go but towards it.

Nick wasn’t back by the time the soldiers returned Ellis to their room. They had to all but carry him there, for how dizzy he’d begun feeling halfway through the walk. They weren’t exactly gentle about it, tossing him onto his bed the moment it was within reach. Then they dropped little packaged snacks and juice boxes on the dresser haphazardly so they could leave. During the unnerving and agonizingly silent draw, he’d been advised to eat and drink immediately upon returning to his room. Thing was slumping over onto his side felt a lot better.

He’d plopped down in an awkward way, but something in him seemed to think it was more comfortable than painful because it was too difficult to rise up even the little bit he needed in order to reach the nearby sugar.

Ellis must’ve given up on the endeavor, too, because next thing he knew the door was making an awful racket being opened and closed and locked. He wanted to turn but couldn’t until Nick’s wide hands were helping him to do it. He hadn’t even realized he was hanging halfway off the bed until his roommate hefted his legs up onto it.

He watched through bleary eyes as his issued slippers were plucked from his feet and tossed away. Then the bed dipped next to his shoulder and he gave the man above him a smile when the mask, which had been half hanging off his face, was removed.

Nick touched his face. “Jesus, Overalls. You okay?”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “That was’a short break fer y’guys.”

Thick brows furrowed. “We were out there for two hours like normal.”

“Oh.” He tilted his cheek into the palm cupping it. “Rochelle okay?”

“Besides being worried about you, you mean? Fuck, Ellis—what’d they do?”

“Took blood,” he answered as his eyes lowered.

“No, keep your eyes open, fireball. You’ve gotta drink some of this juice.”

“What juice?” he asked, confused. Then, in that same confusion, he tried to turn from his friend. “M’too tired.”

“Tough shit,” Nick spat, holding him steady. “C’mon.” He wedged his forearm beneath Ellis’ back so he could leverage him upright. Not trusting the younger man to hold that position, he sat down heavily behind him, using his body to keep him propped as he gathered the little boxes. He speared into the first one with the tiny, orange straw and pressed it into a callused hand. “Drink.”

Ellis at least remembered it was a bad idea to argue with the conman, so he did as he was bid, watching with half-lidded eyes as he punctured the three others. It seemed like a lot before he realized the boxes were about two gulps full for him and nothing more. He drained the first one quickly and began to do so with the second when Nick spoke again.

“I told you I didn’t trust these doctors.”

“Y’said Powell was nice.”

“Yeah? And? What do we get for it? Blood taken from you like you’re a goddamn well or something.”

“Dr. Cheng’s good people,” Ellis argued, tossing the second box at where their trays from lunch were sat.

Nick rolled his eyes and sighed through his nostrils. “Then why’d she let him take more blood out of you?”

“She wasn’t there… maybe she didn’t know.”

The bigger man’s jaw clenched and he handed over the next box. “That Reid guy’s probably the worst of them. He’s a fucking doctor, he knew not to touch you for at _least _a week. That’s a pint each fucking time! He could’ve killed you if he took too much.”

That seemed a bit excessive and dramatic to Ellis’ fuzzy mind, so he settled on basking in the part of it that recognized just _how _worried the northerner was for him. He seemed ready to get up and rip the door off its hinges so he could go on a rampage through the base to find the doctor. He’d probably be shot or something, but it was still a nice fantasy to imagine him going all Rambo and shit. It warmed him to think of it and because of that he found it simple to slump down until he could lean his head against the meat of one of those broad shoulders.

“Christ, and he probably knew you didn’t know that.”

“M’okay.”

“Yeah, you sure as fuck look it.” He replaced the empty juice for the last one. “You’re gonna feel like crap for the next couple of days because that dick couldn’t wait.”

“S’okay. Ain’t got anywhere’ta be.”

That got an amused huff out of his roommate. “Can’t you complain about something for once?”

Ellis turned until his cheek was squished against the older man. “I complained all’uv the time. Remember the mud people?”

Nick scoffed.

“Well, ain’t nobody that’kin bitch quite like you.” The chuckle above him tickled his hair. “An’ I did complain—or well, I didn’t just let them do it. There were two soldiers with guns; couldn’t really fight. …But that’s gotta be it, right? Can’t take more blood so y’don’t hafta worry.”

“I’m only worried because once they’re done with you who’s to say they won’t come after me?”

Ellis grinned up at him. “Toldjya they want _healthy _people.”

“Little shit.” But he didn’t shrug him off like he might have days ago. Instead one of his arms moved around him so he could guide him back down onto the bed gently. He did snatch up the juice box in a teasingly antagonistic way, though.

It made Ellis laugh and that made him feel tired again.

“C’mon,” Nick murmured, raising his blanket so he could get underneath it. “I’m waking you up again for dinner.”

The mechanic smiled, charmed by how their situations had reversed and even more so by the fact that his friend was more than capable of rising to the occasion. The older man didn’t exactly tuck him in, but he pulled the covers up to his collarbone before looking over his face. He didn’t like something he saw there, but he did return Ellis’ expression with a little curl of his lips.

The weakened survivor stared at it, memorized its softness and then reached out to touch his wrist. “Nick.”

One of those full brows raised, then he tracked those blue eyes and the smile turned teasing. “What?”

_Gonna convince me? _the ex-con had asked once. Ellis wished he had the energy for it. But he didn’t, and then something else occurred to him. There was a sharpness in his toes, not a pain exactly, but bordering very closely on it. The same was true of his fingers and even the line of his spine.

“It cold in here’ta you?”

Nick’s forehead creased. “No.”

“…Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m from the south.”

Big fingers trailed his cheek briefly and then his roommate spun around. When he turned back it was to overlap Ellis’ blanket with his own.

“Y’su—”

“I’m sure.”

The mechanic thought his jaw clacking shut was audible, but his teammate didn’t comment on it, so he curled beneath the covers to try to regain his lost warmth. He wasn’t sure if it worked because next thing he knew the door was making noise again and his extremities still had that frigid sting. He didn’t want to bother Nick with it, though, especially not when he was lifting him up so they could sit pressed together again.

They ate like that, quiet and together. For the taller man it was because in between bites he was analyzing Ellis’ movements and food intake. He made him eat every last bite on the tray and then plopped his little dessert cake onto it at the end. He’d just finished his own, but Nick only raised an eyebrow as if ready for the fuss the southerner wanted to make. Ellis wasn’t really up to the challenge, so he ate the chocolatey square because it wasn’t exactly a hardship.

He used the bathroom after that and then immediately crawled back into his bed. He wasn’t as quick to fall asleep this time, so he got to lay there and watch some cooking show with Nick for a bit. His mind still didn’t feel up to speed so he could only laugh at the small quips his friend made every now and then until he drifted off.

The screaming he’d heard all those nights ago, when he’d been lonely and scared, was echoing distantly and elusively down the hall. Any person who slept deeply or had worked to tire themselves since sleep was a tricky thing in those enclosed rooms, would not have even stirred at it. Ellis certainly hadn’t.

But Nick must have been sleeping awfully light, or maybe his concern for his lover had kept him awake—which, was probably a thought for sometime his brain wasn’t slower than usual—because it was him lunging from the bed and cursing that woke the mechanic. He was trying to peer out into the too-dark hallway for some kind of illumination. He hadn’t wanted to turn on any of their lights to disturb Ellis, but the sound was so unnatural, so familiar yet terrifyingly different that he couldn’t take the same care with his voice.

“Toldjya,” Ellis whispered.

“The fuck _is_ it?”

“Dunno. Ain’t no person though, right?”

“No,” Nick agreed. He waited a moment, listening to the cadence of the shrieking. His face was impossible to make out in the dark, but the moment the sound cut out sharper than one of the axes they’d found, his silhouette was stepping back from the door. He stood there for several long, long moments. “It can’t be an Infected.” Ellis wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or not, so he remained quiet. “They’d have the alarms going.”

The southerner had sat up at some point during the investigation, so he had to draw the blankets back up around his chilled shoulders. “Nothin’ happened last time… An’ we can’t really do anythin’ about it trapped in here.”

“Are your teeth chattering? Seriously?”

“S’cold in here,” Ellis hissed defensively.

“Shit,” Nick muttered to himself. “Close your eyes.”

Even through his shut lids the sudden blinding overhead lights made him wince. He put one of his hands over his eyes and it took him a bit to ease it away so he could blink enough times to grow accustomed to the brightness. When look around without pain, he turned his head to watch Nick unplug their lamp so that he could safely drag their tiny night stand from between the beds. When he cleared them, he walked around to the opposite side of Ellis’.

“Stand up for a sec. You can keep the covers.”

The younger survivor did as he was bid, keeping his wrappings as he rose. Nick made sure his feet were clear and then began pushing the cot, one end at a time, until it lined up perfectly with his own. Then he moved the nightstand back in place and kneeled so he could plug the lamp back in. When he did and it flickered on, Ellis did them both a favor by turning off the big lights.

Then he watched Nick climb onto the newly made bed, rolling onto the side nearest the wall. Remembering how cold the brick was, the mechanic was glad for the consideration. Still, he had to swallow a bit before walking over. He passed over one half of the blankets and together they situated them atop the mattresses and Nick’s body. When they were fitted as well as they were going to be, the gambler raised one of his arms to beckon him in.

Ellis didn’t know why it gave him pause. They’d slept in the same bed already, but it felt different now that his exhaustion wasn’t fueled by the desperate need to survive or the relaxing heat he felt after orgasm. It was practical on his teammate’s part, right? Ellis’ teeth _shouldn’t _be chattering and he wanted to help, but then again it’s not like he would die of hypothermia or anything. It wasn’t cold enough for that in their shared space. Nick had to be aware of that but still he was acting more anxious about Ellis’ condition than it had been when their positions had been the other way around.

The shorter man felt a little guilty for that… but it’s not like his friend would’ve let him fuss over him regardless.

Seemed like a bit of hypocrisy at the moment, though.

Ellis shut off the light and slipped in, crowding back against the older man’s front since that’s where his heavy arm corralled him. His body was entirely rigid, no matter how he just wanted to melt backwards into Nick’s considerable heat. After an awkward beat, he slid his knees up a bit, trying to get comfortable. The moment his feet skimmed between two fuzzy shins there was a loud hiss in his ear.

“Goddamn your feet are freezing.”

“Toldjya it was cold!” He tried to angle them away, but Nick sat up and stopped him.

“It’s fine. Just warn a guy.” He reached down to where their feet and lower legs were entangled and resituated the blankets so that their legs were practically cocooned within them, ensuring that none of the warmth would slip out. When he laid back down it already felt much better.

For long moments Ellis stared out into the darkness, feeling the weight of the other man’s breath on his hair while his ears remained perked for any sound that wasn’t their heartbeats. But it seemed as though the screaming had stopped for the night. He had to wonder if they’d go the same span of days before hearing it again. Or if they’d hear it again at all.

“Nick?” he asked. “You scared?”

There were long moments of protracted silence, but Ellis knew he couldn’t have—and wouldn’t have—fallen to sleep that quickly. Finally, he gave a considerate grumble. “No.”

Maybe he thought it was what the bassist wanted to hear. Maybe he was trying to reassure him. Or maybe he was being honest. Maybe he really wasn’t scared because he’d become accustomed to their surroundings. Maybe it was because they’d found their friends.

Maybe it was because they were back together?

That made Ellis smile, one that the pitch black of the room obscured. Lucky for him, he knew it could be heard in his voice. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“’Course it does. Remember? Me’n you are damn good at killin’ zombies.”

Nick chuffed at that and tightened his arm. And although there was uncertainty about what lay outside their door, he felt no more of it in the bed.

He woke the next morning warm and with Nick’s smell in his head. It was a scent he’d sometimes caught under the gore and sweat during their travels. He’d liked it and had wanted to get clean just as much as the bigger man had just to chase it across his skin. Now that he was enveloped in it, he wasn’t exactly sure why he shouldn’t lie in that bed forever.

Well, save the fact that Nick’s voice and touch were just as motivating. And they’d worked in tandem to wake him up for a breakfast he hadn’t heard delivered.

He had more energy than he had the day before, though he wouldn’t admit out loud that his mind still felt veiled and his limbs encumbered. He tried not to let that show when they were allowed out to the yard for that day. It was Grady and Herrera that procured them, and he was glad of it. Not that he would have know if it had been the other soldiers with their matching attire.

The two they knew by name were only easy to recognize because—besides their different uniforms—they were almost always together. Grady was more than half a foot taller than his friend and he carried himself like a statue, immovable and towering. Herrera was the more animated of the two, as if he was trying to match the cadence of his walk to his macho attitude.

They didn’t seem to notice Ellis’ ailment, or maybe they didn’t care. They just led them out to the open air and found a wall to lean up against for their watch. Every wall had a pair like them. The two at the door just happened to have the biggest guns.

When the women came out Rochelle rushed out from their little throng to put her arms around Ellis, gently as if he she were afraid he’d tumble over.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping back so she could touch his cheeks above the mask. He’d seen for himself in the bathroom mirror how drawn his expression had become, he was just glad she didn’t have to see the effort he had to put into smiling.

He’d never had to try like that before in his life.

“Yeah,” he repeated, having just assured Coach of the same thing.

“What’d they want?”

“To take more blood,” Nick answered bitterly.

“Didn’t they already take some?” Coach looked between the two roommates.

“Yep and they still decided to take another pint about three days later.”

Their leader’s face immediately contorted in apprehension. He let out a long sigh, though it did nothing to alleviate his worry.

“Are they trying to kill him?” Rochelle asked rhetorically though that didn’t dampen the vehemence in her voice.

“No, they’re trying to suck him dry all in the name of finding a cure.”

“Plenty of other people here to take from, though,” the reporter murmured, looking to all the bodies shuffling around them.

Ellis looked, too. There were people of all different sizes, races, genders, and ages. Most of the people looked to be between the late teenage years and their thirties, but there were a few that looked to be about Coach’s age. Nobody was any older.

That made him confused. The look the two northerners shared made it worse.

“Which doctor was it?” their smallest teammate asked.

“Reid.”

“Don’t know him. I saw Harris and Powell.”

“Be glad of that,” Nick told her. “I know I’ve said this about a lot of these army guys, but he’s a dick.”

“He’s the one you normally see?”

“Naw,” Ellis chimed in. “I usually see Dr. Cheng. She’s nice.”

“Yeah, real nice to let her colleague nab you like that.”

“Man, I toldjya she might not’uv known.”

Rochelle looked as unsure as Nick sounded.

“Let’s find out,” the latter said, eyes trained on one of the walls. When the mechanic turned to see why he realized it was the wall where he’d noted their two guards earlier.

They were talking animatedly and from this far Herrera almost looked like a normal guy. Whatever they were discussing must’ve been funny because Grady had to hold his stomach at one point. Before he could say that interrupting them wasn’t the best idea, Nick had already moved from his side.

Rochelle put her hands to his wrist and shoulder to keep him from trying to stop the gambler.

“They ain’t gonna shoot him for askin’ a question,” Coach assured him.

Ellis wasn’t so sure, though. The soldiers seemed like they were subservient to the doctors and he could only guess that it was because of their medical knowledge being a high priority during the world-ending pandemic that was ravaging their country and possibly the world. If that were the case, it’d just make sense to be loyal to them.

So, who was to say the two wouldn’t go right to Reid and tell him?

Nick had to know that and so asking seemed to be more of a risk than anything. Was his worry so deeply rooted that he’d chance the both of them?

Coach and Rochelle were talking at his side, but his eyes were rooted on the strong line of his friend’s shoulders. Herrera’s posture had instantly turned defensive at his approach. It was obvious his words were as hostile as they always were because Grady had to gently push him back against the wall to keep space between him and the survivor.

The taller soldier was more willing to humor the northerner and judging by the inquisitive tilt of his mask the topic was somewhat baffling to him. Even Herrera’s rigid stance drooped. From there it was too much to discern for the mechanic for how fast the conversation seemed to go. By the end of it, when Nick was returning to them, the two soldiers had moved in close to each other, guarding their conversation between their helmets.

“So?” Rochelle asked for him.

“Asked what the hell I was talking about,” Nick said, leveling his lover with considering eyes.

“Y’think they’re lyin’?” Ellis wasn’t sure how a person could tell but the older man seemed to possess that skill as part of his arsenal.

“Don’t you have to see their face for their tells?” Rochelle wondered.

“Mm,” the conman murmured noncommittally, as if he were doubting himself as well. He glanced back over his shoulder at the duo.

“Do we have a plan if they are?”

Coach opened his mouth, but Ellis had to stop him. “No—no way. They threatened’ta shoot Nick already. Y’all ain’t gettin’ hurt ‘cause’uv me.”

“If that’s the case,” the other southerner said, “then he’s right.”

“So just let them keep taking him?” Nick rounded on him.

“What’s you bein’ dead gonna do to change that?”

There was no good argument to make, besides insults, and when both Rochelle _and _Ellis touched each of the ex-con’s arms his mouth pinched shut to keep himself from doing that. Not that it lasted long enough to keep him from going off once they were back in their room. It was almost amusing to watch him pace the tiny few steps he could and gesture harshly through the air while listing all the grievances they’d experienced.

It was all the better when it was clear that the things done to Ellis had him more incensed than the rest of it.

He remembered a time when Nick was ready to run off on his own, a time when he would’ve been glad it was anybody’s skin but his own, a time when he used his teammates as a means of survival. And he remembered how short lived those thoughts were, no matter how the conman wanted to pretend otherwise.

He liked the warmth he felt when he compared who they’d been at their first meeting to who they were now. Not that they were entirely new people. In fact, he liked to believe that Nick was more himself now than he’d ever been.

It was his charmed smile that stopped his roommate’s rant.

“If you’re about to spout some uplifting bullshit—”

Ellis grinned and reached out from where he was sitting on their bed. “Naw, just wantchya’ta come here.”

Nick stepped closer which put him within range to grab. With the leverage, the smaller man was able to get him to sit down. Normally they’d sit with their sides together, but Ellis angled his body so that they were even closer than that.

“What’re you doing?”

“Wanna kiss you,” Ellis told him, slipping his hand up all the way from his hand to his jaw so he could turn it towards him.

“Ellis,” he murmured. “You’re still out of it.”

“I said _kiss_,” the younger man teased. “Y’can’t kiss me without wantin’ta have sex?”

“In my defense…” the older man put his arm around the mechanic’s back as they sank backwards, planting a palm there as Ellis propped up an elbow so he could perch atop him, “I’m just worried about what little blood you have left rushing south.”

The bassist laughed and spread his hand over a pectoral so he could feel along to the next. Then he leant his weight against Nick’s side so he could kiss him easier.

His teammate returned it and then raised a brow at him. “Not that I’m complaining,” though he didn’t sound sure, “but what’d I do to deserve that?”

“D’you hafta do somethin’ for me’ta kiss ya?”

Nick looked between his eyes and then tracked his gaze over and up and down to analyze his face. It made Ellis feel like he’d stepped off the edge of a diving board before he was ready. Like he’d forgotten to put on swim trunks or sunscreen or plug his nose before dropping down to the bottom of the pool. Down there he just felt the pressure of the water pounding at his ears and its chlorine-sting against his open eyes.

He thought back on the times they’d kissed. The first had been interrupted yet heated and unlike any first kiss he’d ever shared with another person. The second bout had been even more heated, but he had to keep himself from thinking about what happened on the boat if he wanted to keep to his word. The only other times he’d kissed him outside of sex was when he thought there’d been a chance they could die and because he’d been so glad they hadn’t.

“Guess not,” Nick answered. His palm started to move then, rubbing up and down his back to warm him. It reminded him of the sun and the deck of a boat and a heavy hand cradling the back of his neck.

He wondered if the other man was thinking it too for how the lines of his face softened and how easily he found it to trade kisses.

It took three days for Ellis to start feeling more like his normal self. He knew he was getting better when he wasn’t freezing every night, though he didn’t exactly mention that to Nick. He even woke up before him that morning, though he made sure to stay still and quiet until the bigger man rose to do his pushups. They were both surprised when the southerner was able to join him, though he had to stop before too long.

Rochelle and Coach were very happy to see the color in his face and hear the mirth return to his voice. They even humored him by letting him finish a couple Keith stories. He didn’t want to tell too many, though, because their reporter had been allowed to bring out her notebook and a pen to write so he didn’t want to derail her focus too much. It made Ellis wish they’d had the same guards, but he knew why that couldn’t be.

It was nice to be able to help her write. Together the four of them recalled the little things she may have missed or tried to give her a different perspective as to how a Hunter’s scream sounded.

Which reminded Ellis.

“Did the two’uv you hear the screamin’ a couple nights ago?”

“Screaming?” Coach echoed. “When?”

“Late,” Nick said, those gray eyes darting between their two friends. Something he saw there made him leave it to Ellis to explain.

“_Inside _the base?” Rochelle asked, flipping to a new page. She set her pen to the first line and looked up expectantly. “Was it a person?”

“Hell naw, it was like… I mean, I dunno _how _to describe it.”

“Like a Hunter? Smoker? Witch?”

“Naw, nothin’ we’ve heard before.” He twisted his hands together. “An’ it wasn’t the same both times.”

“Both?”

“I heard it one’uv the first nights we were here… but the one a few nights ago was worse. It was… I dunno besides that they weren’t humans no more.”

“Some’uv those zombies made noises I never heard a person make before… maybe some’uv the people claimin’ to be carriers weren’t.” Coach crossed his arms over his chest.

“That makes sense,” Rochelle agreed. “That’s why they put us in quarantine the first two days. They probably have a few survivors still trickling in.”

“I guess that _does_ make sense,” Ellis acquiesced, glancing at his roommate. Nick shook his head, though and there was something heavy in his gut that made him agree. Granted, they hadn’t heard any regular zombies in a while now. He figured the army was good at keeping them at bay since they had much better artillery than some scrambling survivors could ever find. The perimeter they’d set up to keep their base safe was probably too well fortified for some zombies to make it through.

And the only way they could hear something was if the infected got close enough to the walls, so Coach’s solution had to be the right one. So why didn’t Ellis believe it?

He wished he could explain, but he guessed he wasn’t as smart as all that because he couldn’t find a way.

And just like that it wasn’t brought up again for the next two recesses, though he and Nick had lain awake at night, curled against one another with their breaths hushed trying to hear it again. Rochelle, however, was more interested in asking about Savannah and even about the two southerners themselves. He figured that was because she was trying to keep their minds off things being worse. Especially Ellis’ since she kept wanting to hear stories about his friends. She was always writing about something else when he snuck a peek, but he couldn’t blame her for wanting him to think about anything but what his blood was being used for.

Coach and Nick always wandered away during those times. The latter man he didn’t blame—he’d already heard a ton of his stories within their confines. He couldn’t blame their leader, either though. The two had decided it was a good use of their time to mingle among the other survivors and learn names.

_Make friends_, Nick had told them almost conspiratorially.

Ellis was the most social of the four, but he made sure he went around with Rochelle since he didn’t want to leave her alone. Because of that it was the women he got to know first since that’s who she began interviewing. It felt almost like they were on the evening news, but the ladies didn’t mind the questions or, apparently, getting to know the other female survivors.

One or two of the girls near his age even seemed pleased to have Ellis introduce himself.

Nick had happened to be near on one of those instances and had unsurprisingly ribbed the younger man about it later until he’d been tackled backwards onto the bed. Also unsurprising was the fact that Ellis had managed to win their little bout, though he suspected the conman liked the outcome just as much since he’d been all but straddling that big body. Not that Nick had taken advantage of it.

Although he’d played into it, it seemed like he still hadn’t wanted to test the younger man’s body beyond some light grappling. Ellis could understand that… though it just made him miffed that Nick had lost their wrestling match on purpose.

He supposed he should’ve been thinking about anything but wrestling, Nick, or wrestling Nick when he had so many new people around to talk to. Still, he couldn’t help looking up every now and again to find that wavy, dark hair among the crowd. He couldn’t help it if he felt safer with his teammates at his sides, especially when the conman was the closest.

Though something told him that right now his body was thinking about more than just being safe.

It was all but confirmed when Nick stepped up to the little group that had gathered around him and Rochelle. They were mostly young women in their twenties, but they’d been rescued so early that they hadn’t needed to fight like his team had. Because of that it had felt like he and Ro were being interviewed rather than the other way around.

Ellis didn’t see him at first but turned when he felt the wide hand on the small of his back.

“You okay?”

“A’course. Where’s Coach?”

“Think he found another football fan or something.”

“What about you?” Ellis asked teasingly. “Y’find another poker fan? Pool fan? Gamblin’ fan?”

“Unfortunately, yours truly still seems to be the most cultured person here.”

Ellis guffawed at that.

“I’ll ask about horses, racecars, and the old men who drive them next time,” Nick deadpanned. “See if we can’t find your type of demented.”

The mechanic shook his head fondly and stepped closer to him. “What’re y’actually askin’ em?”

“Wanted to see if anybody else has gotten Reid’s attention.” He sighed. “Most people stick to their friends, but the ones we’ve talked to haven’t been asked for any of their blood. None of them seem to like the guy, though.”

“Ain’t no surprise there.”

The guards closest to the door started to yell, breaking the mingling groups apart. As always, the ladies lined up first after saying goodbye to their friends, new and old. Rochelle came over to give them all hugs as she always did before disappearing back into the building. Then it was the men’s turn, though they were called by their halls since they far outnumbered their female counterparts.

Their hall was called last and Ellis lined up, between his friends as always. Different from always, however, were the two guards waving the men in to follow the soldier who would lead them back to their rooms. It was different because the moment he and his friends came into view, they held up their hands to stop them and approached from either side.

“McKinney—”

“Not a-fucking-gain,” Nick snarled.

Ellis couldn’t tell if they were the same guards from the last time since all their voices sounded similar, muffled and demanding beneath their heavy masks. All the same, he wasn’t about to trust them and for once didn’t complain a bit when both his teammates stepped in front of him.

Each soldier put a hand on the tasers they wore at their sides. “Reid ordered us to come get him,” one said.

“Boy ain’t goin’ with y’all,” Coach said. “Doc almost drained him dry last time. He got what he needed.”

“Don’t cause a scene,” the other said, almost imploringly, “and don’t make us tase you.”

Nick seemed to want to rise to the challenge, but someone called out to distract them all.

“What’s the fucking hold up?” Ellis wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not when Herrera stepped up between the two fractions.

Grady wasn’t too far behind, towering above almost everybody to survey the scene. “Why did you stop these survivors?”

“Got orders.”

“Yeah?” Herrera asked, stepping in tandem with his partner so they could square off with their fellow soldiers. “Whose?”

“Reid.”

“No shit. Which one he want? No, wait, lemme guess: he wants McKinney.” He gripped onto the straps of his vest and tilted his head. It was almost a delight to see that his aggression could be aimed at people other than Ellis and his friends. “That ain’t gonna happen.”

“Reid outranks you,” one of them spit, voice sounding as though he was far beyond infuriated. “You really want word getting back to him?”

“You wanna know who he don’t outrank?” Herrera asked, tone heavily smug. “Cheng.”

The two soldiers froze at that, turning to look at one another briefly.

Grady pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. Then he held it down so they could see, though curiously neither of them reached out for it. Several rough moments passed, during which Ellis found himself swallowing his heart back down into his chest where it belonged.

“Orders are clear: nobody touches McKinney without authorization and approval from Dr. Cheng.” The taller man only waited one moment longer before tucking the sheet away.

“We weren’t told that.”

“You’re being told right now, man,” Herrera snapped. When the two soldiers looked between one another he sighed so hard Ellis thought his mask might shoot right off. “You don’t believe us? Go ask. Or are you willing to risk your asses over some kid?”

One of them sure wasn’t because he instantly reached out to pull on his partner’s arm. “Let’s go. If they’re lying it’s not like they can hide him anywhere but his cell.”

Nick’s fingers grazed his. He must’ve made a sound or stepped backwards or something. It was just that he’d never thought of the room he shared with the bigger man as a cell.

Should he have?

The soldiers retreated without further comment and Ellis watched them go, feeling detached and numb. He barely registered he was being looked at until Coach dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. Then he turned to their guards.

“Sure do appreciate both of y’all—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Herrera interrupted, wagging his arm to stop the heartfelt words. It was reminiscent of their own emotionally constipated teammate, though he’d never say that out loud. “We didn’t do it for you guys.”

Nick scoffed.

“Grady ain’t lying. Cheng gave us orders. She doesn’t want Reid running around doing whatever he wants. Guy’s a fucking weasel.”

“And this is gonna be the end of it?” the gambler asked. “You guys gonna be on guard _every _night so they don’t come in and grab him?”

“Relax. We’re not gonna let them come take your boyfriend.”

Ellis stopped his teammate with a hand to the chest, amused as he was that his lover had been more than right about their bet. “C’mon, they just helped us.”

“Yeah, listen to your better half.”

“You little—”

This time it was Grady who moved forward to give his partner a light thump over the head. “Cut the shit.” He motioned the survivors to the shut doors. “The orders have gone out and there’s going to be an eight-man rotation hand-picked by Cheng for your hall and the next one over.”

“And the boy’s food?” Coach wondered.

The smaller soldier groaned, but his friend tilted his head obligingly as he opened the door for them. “We watch it get made, don’t worry.”

“Come on, come on,” Herrera groused, urging them inside.

Even so, Ellis still thanked them while he could.

Later that night, Ellis’ jaw was starting to get sore from the non-stop way he’d been running his mouth since they’d returned to their room. He hadn’t been talking about anything in particular, either. He’d been babbling about his mom and friends, about his years as a goddamn boy scout, about literally anything but their current situation. Nick had commented here or there, but not to interrupt. There hadn’t even been any confusion in his expression or responses.

He’d just listened, and even now that it had come time to sleep, he didn’t admonish his teammate for being unable to do so.

Still, Ellis felt like he had to apologize. “Sorry. Just jittery.”

“Don’t blame you.”

There was a beat before the mechanic sat up, reaching out to turn on their little lamp so he could see his teammate in the soft glow. Nick was waiting, an expectant look in his eyes and brows, but somehow it was easier for Ellis to hide his face in his hands than keep looking. After a moment of rubbing and pulling his skin, he dropped his arms atop his legs and hunched forward to stare at nothing.

The gambler’s touch slipped across his back and Ellis wondered if he missed his rings. “Not cold?”

The younger man glanced back briefly and then shook his head with a shy, little laugh. “Ain’t been cold for a few nights now.”

Nick’s touch pressed deeper, into more of a massage than a caress. “Good.”

Ellis turned his hips because he felt like it wasn’t fair to hide his expressions. “That okay?”

“Would’ve pulled the beds apart if it wasn’t.”

It was a good thing he was someone who cheered easily, because right now he’d needed those reassuring words. “Okay,” he murmured, nodding. “…Feel like I’m freakin’ out, Nick.”

“You _are_.” The other man shrugged. “I would be, too, if I was everyone’s favorite lab rat.”

Ellis wanted to smile, but the reminder unsettled him too much. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? That why it’s me?”

Nick frowned so severely and so suddenly it made the smaller survivor wish he’d kept the worry to himself. It was unfounded and he didn’t need to be sounding like he was ten years old asking if everything was going to be okay. He didn’t need to be looking weak or laying anything on his friend he didn’t want laid on him.

All the same, he’d said it, and in response Nick sat upright so that they could properly face one another. “I was joking, Ellis.”

“Doesn’t mean it ain’t true.”

“What could you have possibly done? Besides running your mouth because I know you can’t help that.”

“I guess I did. Dr. Cheng asked a lotta questions the time she drew the blood.”

“You never told me—besides that she wanted the sample to help them find a cure.”

“Yeah, an’ I said ‘hell yes’ ‘cause if it’s gonna help a’course I’m gonna do it.”

“Of course you did, hero,” Nick chuckled.

Ellis gave him a wry look but couldn’t get it to touch his smile.

“What else did she ask?”

“Wanted’ta know about us. How we got here safely an’ how hard it was…asked if we stuck our necks out for each other.”

The conman sucked in a breath like he’d had a sudden revelation. Unlike his roommate he was able to display that cynical smile. “And you talked about the times you took down Tanks and Hunters and whatever the hell else for all of us.”

“Told her y’all did the same for me,” Ellis interjected.

“Doesn’t matter what _we_ did—she was asking about you and trying to gauge your disposition.” He leant his weight back on his arms and it was an inappropriate time to think about how good it made the contours of his chest and stomach look.

“…What’re you sayin’?” the mechanic asked, hating how snappish he sounded. “That she’s usin’ me?”

“Yes and no. She’s not some crazy scientist from your movies, though.”

Ellis felt the confused contortion on his face, but he emphasized it with a helpful: “Huh?”

Nick gave a put-upon sigh. “Keep up, Overalls. Fact is she had you pegged for a someone willing to stick his neck out for others—even if it means almost getting turned to pulp by a goddamn Tank.” He jutted his nose forward towards his fellow survivor. “Got more heart than brains… and she knows it means you’ll be willing to help her research with the stipulation that it might save the world or some shit.”

“…You think that’s stupid’uv me.”

“I think you _can _be stupid, not that you _are_.”

Ellis wished that hadn’t made something clench in his chest. “So, y’think it was the right thing’ta do? To give her the blood?”

“I’m not someone you should be looking to for the specificities of right and wrong,” the ex-con laughed, “but you did what _you_ felt was right. I don’t think agreeing to help Cheng is gonna get you hurt.”

Bewildered, the younger man tilted his head. “Thought you didn’t trust the doctors?”

“I don’t.”

“Man, that’s bullshit. Y’let one’uv ‘em fix yer back.”

His friend scoffed. “Yeah, because I didn’t want to die from an infection after everything we survived.”

Ellis shook his head, trying to shake the feeling that something wasn’t adding up right. When he couldn’t he decided to address it: “Seems like you trust Cheng with me, though.” At the older man’s silence, he continued: “What’djya say’ta Grady an’ Herrera the other day? I know y’asked if they knew… butchya must’uv said more’n that if they got Dr. Cheng involved.”

Nick’s face relaxed and his telltale smirk actually looked proud. “I asked them how they felt about Reid, how _Cheng_ felt about Reid, and about how she’d feel to know he was taking blood from you to try to outdo her.”

“Outdo her?”

“A guess, though now I’m thinking that’s only what he cares about. She seems pretty adamant about protecting you.”

It was starting to seem like she wasn’t the only one, and Ellis felt his cheeks heat minutely at the realization. “Still, y’don’t even know her… you hedged your bets on Herrera and Grady’ta tell her an’… what if she didn’t care? What if she knew? How’d you _know _y’could trust her?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted, softly. His gray eyes held even on the man beside him. “You’re the one who said she was a good person.”

The southerner almost gasped for how hard the sweet astonishment hit him. He managed to push it down, but it still felt like his belly thought he was on a roller coaster.

His stunned silence must have unnerved Nick because he sank back down onto the bed, mouth a thin line. “What?” He put his arms back behind his head. “You were right about all the people we’ve met so far.”

So, he hadn’t been going off nothing. He’d observed how often the two soldiers had been in Dr. Cheng’s employ. He’d listened to Ellis’ words about her and had weighed their meaning beyond just a kindness. He’d trusted and respected his lover enough to believe him. And he’d used all of that to ensure his protection.

Ellis felt like the ride was giving him one of its dropping rushes, the ones that overloaded a person’s system with weightlessness and joy.

He wasn’t a person to yell or holler on a coaster. He was a laugher, and he laughed now, so sudden and full of mirth that Nick smiled, too. Ellis managed to tamper it into a grin, but even that he had to pull back so that when he leant down he could press his lips firmly against the older man’s.

He liked the soft sound their mouths made when they parted.

“Now that one _was _for something,” Nick mumbled.

“Yeah,” Ellis whispered, fixing the blankets so he could press their skin together.

“Gonna tell me?” Though that didn’t seem to matter with the way his hands were readily flexing over the younger man’s sides and down to his hips. He urged one thigh over his own.

The bassist went with it, putting a hand in his chest hair to balance himself. “’Cause you’re worried.”

His teammate snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be? They try to get you again and _I’m_ the one who’s gonna get shot.”

“Why?” Ellis grinned. “You plan on gettin’ in the way again?”

“It gonna turn you off if I tell you to stop talking and get on top of me?”

The southerner laughed and shook his head. He shifted his weight so that he could sit back on the ex-con’s lap as those wide hands directed. When he was perched more than comfortably, Nick sat up, too, so his mouth could reach his neck. Ellis put his arms over his shoulders and felt along the healthy skin of his back, craning his chin this way and that so the sucking teeth could mark him.

Jokingly, he decided to scratch his fingernails gently over his teammate’s scar. It earned him a chuckle and a teasing, upwards tug on his t-shirt. He lifted his arms to answer the unspoken question and free them both of its obstruction. Nick surprised him by catching his biceps before he could lower them completely. He squeezed them, feeling across the muscle before he leaned forward to start a line of kisses at the right arm’s inner elbow.

Ellis didn’t even know a person could be sensitive there, but the feel of lips and tongue along the lines of his arm was making his face heat more than heavy erection growing against his ass. When Nick got to his armpit, he tilted his chin to the side, planting a toothy suck at the very edge of his pectoral. It startled a half-laugh out of him that he could only stifle to a giggling grin as the administrations were repeated on his other arm.

Nick grinned up at him after, manually lowering his arms so he could retrain his own hands at his lover’s hips. Then he slid them back and cupped his ass cheeks and Ellis didn’t need him to say anything to start rubbing against him. Nor did he have to say anything when he put his fingers in that wavy hair; his teammate just lowered his head to kiss and lick his chest every time he rolled close.

Eventually, he wanted to do more so he anchored his arms and flipped them, maneuvering Ellis up against the pillows so he could make a mess out of his torso. The mechanic was a little less embarrassed being kissed or licked there, though he still blushed when he found his hips rolling at every suck on his nipples. It seemed to delight his partner though, who probably only pulled off because he didn’t want to bruise him. Before he got up completely, though, he leveled one loud kiss to the middle of the smaller man’s stomach.

Ellis laughed again and touched his forehead when Nick looked up at the sound of it.

“What do you want?” It felt like he breathed the question right into the tan skin above which he was hovering. “Want me to suck you off again?”

The mechanic realized he was nodding before he registered the entire question, so ready was he for Nick to be against him in any way that he didn’t care about the specific _how_. With that permission the gambler urged him up, freeing him from his boxers and tossing them somewhere over his shoulder. Before he could lower back down though, Ellis’ mind caught up with him and he put out his hands.

“Wait.”

“What?” Nick asked immediately, sitting back on his haunches. Naturally, it made his dick strain against the white of his own boxers.

Ellis, worked up as he was, had to stare a moment before he could answer. “Wanna return the favor.” He pulled one of the big arms towards him, cajoling his lover into lying back this time.

The northerner looked over his face and then went down smoothly. Lying on his back, he put one of his forearms under his head and rested his free hand on his belly. Ellis followed, leaning over him and licking his lips to rid himself of some nerves.

“D’you want me’ta do the same…?”

“Want you to do whatever you want. Trust me, I’m gonna like it.”

The younger survivor laughed and canted down to kiss him one more time, opening his mouth so Nick would rub their tongues together. He’d long learned that his lover liked having his neck kissed so he spent several moments doing that, wanting to mark him in turn, no longer caring about how worried he was to have people know. Now he _wanted_ them to know, and it felt like Nick did, too.

He was petting Ellis’ curls, practically humming as he was explored. His nipples seemed less sensitive than his teammates’, but he leaned up into the kisses and sucks all the same. When callused fingers followed in the wetness of his lover’s wake, he brought down his other arm to encourage him further.

“That feels good,” he praised.

Ellis did it again and leant up to kiss the quick breaths out of the older man’s mouth, hoping his trembling wasn’t overtly obvious. Nick didn’t care, though, he just hauled him up so he could twine their tongues together, urging the southerner to keep his hands working at his pectorals. He tried to keep up, too, but it seemed suddenly too dizzying to know that he was doing something to make the muscular body beneath him arch.

Once he was released, he ducked back down so he could run his hands and mouth along the hair over Nick’s firm stomach. He rubbed his cheek on the trail that led under his boxers but moved when they worked together to pull and throw them away as an addition to the discard pile. The older man’s dick landed heavily against his lower stomach, thick and obviously ready. Ellis took it in one of his palms and rubbed the length of it, glancing up through his lashes.

The gambler touched his hair but put no pressure there. Like he’d said, like the last time they’d done this, he was willing to move at Ellis’ pace. Thing was the shorter man didn’t want to go at that pace. Part of him wanted Nick’s fingers to twist in his hair, to guide him where he wanted now that they were comfortable, to flip him over and do all the things they hadn’t up until that point.

He wanted his lover to be at that point, too.

Ellis lowered, angling his mouth to the side so he could kiss up the length of the dick before him. They were slow caresses, tentative and open while he became reaccustomed to the taste of salt and musky skin. Once he got to the tip, he knew he had to substitute his hand back in place to compensate for the inches he wouldn’t be able to fit in his mouth. The other day he’d been so focused on not gagging a second time after being a little over-zealous that he’d worried he’d only been focused on his hand. Now he wanted to do as Nick did to him, to pump his fingers, to swipe his tongue, to suck and bob.

He couldn’t do that last one very far, but he was able to remember to breathe through his nose better this time. It meant he was able to add his tongue, and even though it felt like he was sloppily waggling it around, Nick was murmuring appreciative words at him, so he kept it up. At one point it emboldened him so much that he tried to swallow the big length down deeper, but the moment the head neared the back of his throat he gagged so quickly his first instinct was to withdraw and wipe his mouth.

He wanted to do better and try again, but Nick sat up suddenly to cup his chin. One of his thumbs swiped some of the spittle from his bottom lip and those gray eyes seemed to analyze that fact very closely. Then the taller man leaned forward to lick the rest of it away before following it into its source.

Ellis opened up to him, crawling back up against him during a pause so that he’d be all the closer once they started again. Nick’s hands were all over him, kneading his sides and back and then down. He seemed to like to have handfuls of the southerner’s ass, but the surprising thing was that Ellis liked it just as much. It sent a thrill through him, especially when the grip tightened to urge him to rock back between it and the hard planes of the bigger man’s torso. And the moments when he sat back heavily to feel Nick’s cock graze against the curve of him, to hear how his lover liked the feel of that, well, Ellis was glad he could tuck his face out of sight into those brown waves.

After a few thrusts, Nick pressed another hot, wet kiss to his chest before hefting him to the side. Ellis caught himself on one of his arms and eased back so that his teammate could fit between his thighs. Once in place he slid back down, stopping briefly to nuzzle at the younger survivor’s navel. It tickled enough to make him squirm.

Nick kissed him still and rubbed at his legs. “Wanna try something new. That okay?”

“Yeah,” the mechanic breathed, barely getting his voice out.

His roommate spread his legs a bit more to make way for his shoulders. Then he placed his mouth at the side of Ellis’ knee, and just as he did for his arms, started to kiss inwards towards his pelvis. These were more lascivious than those had been; they felt like they were soaking the soft skin of his thighs, pricking his skin with pleasure and teeth, and he almost hoped they’d stain him while they were at it.

Once the older man got to the joining of his thigh and groin, he gave the crease a lick before checking on his partner. “You like that?”

Ellis did. Though it didn’t have him writhing like his nipples or the thrusting had, the attention being lavished on his body made him simultaneously want to disappear between the covers and attempt to spread out wider than he possibly could so Nick would treat every inch of him the same way. But he didn’t do either of those things, he just nodded the best he could and watched that dark head dip down to dampen his other thigh.

He knew he didn’t need to pause again before settling his mouth over Ellis’ dick. It had been throbbing against his lower abdominals and it felt much better throbbing in the other man’s mouth. Nick was better at sucking in tandem with the pattern set by his fingers. He was so better that the bassist found his hips rolling with the back and forth, though he never lifted from the mattress for fear of accidentally ruining his momentum or choking him.

His other hand he moved down to cup Ellis’ balls. He worked them delicately between his fingers, giving barely there squeezes that nearly made him forget he wasn’t supposed to buck forward. Instead he tangled his fingers in Nick’s hair and tugged. It was another near miss, though, because the groan it evoked vibrated straight through him so strongly he had to clamp his eyes shut and drop his skull back against one of the pillows.

Thing was, he’d naturally assumed this had been what his lover had meant when he mentioned something new. He was proven wrong when the hold loosened and left entirely so that one thick middle finger could seek back, across the sensitive skin just behind until the pad found his asshole. This time Ellis did gasp, mouth falling open in blissed shock as that simple touch amplified the surging pleasure emanating outwards from his groin.

This made it feel like it was too much, like he was on the edge of sanity instead of just the cusp of orgasm. Once the experimental finger increased its pressure, once it _circled _and _pushed _at his rim, he couldn’t think about correcting his movements and let his instinct to arch take over. Nick backed off him when he bucked too deep, clearing his throat and swallowing roughly.

“Sorry,” Ellis puffed.

“It’s okay,” the other man told him, voice gravelly. “Does it feel good?”

“It’s a lot,” the southerner admitted.

“That good or bad?”

“Good,” he whispered.

“Want me to stop?”

“No.” Ellis eased up, which regrettably moved him just enough that the finger slipped away. He made to roll onto his side. “…Should I turn over? Would that make it easier for you to, uh—”

“For me to what?”

The younger survivor blushed again and glanced pointedly downward between his lover’s legs.

Nick blinked at him. “I’m not going to fuck you, Ellis.”

And he stared right back. “Wha—how come?”

His roommate chuckled. “You could barely comprehend me touching your asshole, let along putting something _inside _it.”

Ellis couldn’t help but shove at him playfully. “…Said I liked it.”

“And that’s hot,” the other man husked, “but if this is a lot then that’s gonna to be too much.”

The bassist wasn’t sure where along the way he’d found the ability to speak while they were like this, but he was glad of it. As glad as he was that somehow, they were still teasing each other throughout it, just like they did throughout everything else. “What if I wanna?”

“Okay… fuck,” Nick hissed, “that’s _really _hot.” He had to take a deep breath as if to steady himself. “But you’ve never even tried to touch yourself there before, we don’t have any condoms—”

“Docs said we’re both clean.”

“—_Or _lube. Lots of lube.”

Ellis felt his face wrinkle. “Can’t we juss use—?”

“If you say spit, I’m pulling these beds apart.”

“Like hell you are! They do it all the time in porn.”

“No, they edit porn to make it more appealing for guys to jerk off to.”

The smaller man snorted in amusement. “Ain’t you supposed to be… I dunno, pillow-talkin’ me or somethin’?”

“First time we fuck I’ll say whatever you want,” Nick promised solemnly, “but we can’t do it without lube. Or getting you used to it: a lot of people don’t even like anal.”

Ellis frowned at that. What if he didn’t? He’d thought that was the natural next step, and he was a little relieved that there was more before it. He trusted that Nick knew what was right, and now that they’d stopped to discuss it the idea of having something as thick as that dick inside him without being ready made him feel like a bit of an idiot.

Nick wasn’t looking at him like he was, though.

But still, it was something they both wanted eventually, wasn’t it? “…Can we try somethin’ else?”

“To see if you like it, you mean?” When Nick received a nod, he rubbed one of his knuckles at the smaller man’s pubic hair. “You want me to use my finger?”

Ellis’ blush flared but he nodded again.

Nick nodded back and made to kiss him but stopped with a little smirk at the last second. The bassist had to reel him in because if it hadn’t been a big deal the other way around why would it be one now? They traded kisses for a few long moments, letting the need build back up between them.

After one bout the older man put a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed. “Alright, get back down there.”

Ellis snorted again and obeyed, making to open his legs. Nick grabbed under his knees and pulled him across the sheets, turning the sound into full-fledged laughter.

He quieted when his lover sucked him in again, if little shaky moans counted as quiet. It didn’t take long for him to get as excited as he was, even less so when his teammate took a break to suck one of his fingers in his mouth so that when he set it against Ellis’ opening it was wet. It allowed him to move a bit easier, to tease and massage around the pucker.

It was mostly just pressure, but a taboo sort that he never would have guessed to feel so good. And it only added to his like of it that Nick was the one there with him, working him at both points, slow and testing. Every step of it was gradual, a build-up starting with the little pushes, with him canting his hips to make himself more accessible, with him bending his legs and planting his feet so he could curl both his toes and fingers in the sheets to avoid coming too soon.

Nick may have been worried, but even with just spit it didn’t hurt when the tip of his finger sank inside. Then again, he had practically coated it because of his earlier apprehension and Ellis being aroused beyond comprehension probably helped. It felt unusual because at first it was only pressure, though the point of contact between his rim and his lover’s finger was good, especially when he slid into the thickest part of the digit.

The conman was gauging his reaction and when he saw no discomfort he got to his knees and shifted over the bed, repositioning at Ellis’ side so it was easier for him to hunch over his lower body and put his mouth back to work. It also gave him the leverage he needed to test the younger man’s pucker with an extra finger.

At some point the southerner’s eyes had fallen closed and mouth open. It was a snugger fit and Nick withdrew for a second before he came back, wetter and with a firmer push than before. Ellis made some sort of sound, but the moment he thought the bigger man might withdraw he put one of his hands in his hair to hold him steady so he could, almost timidly, rock his hips back and forth. His partner allowed this, moving with him to take in what he could while his fingers slowly started to pump in and out of him.

Again, it was like pressure moving in and out of him, but somehow the stretch of it counterbalanced the foreign feeling. He felt full, but in a way it helped amplify the pleasure trilling outward from Nick’s languid suckling.

Ellis opened his eyes so he could watch, dipping his chin close to his chest so he could watch the other man’s head dipping. He loosened the hold he had in his hair so that he could rake his fingers through it instead, appreciative and tender. It was a short-lived gesture though, because the bassist had to ground himself somewhere again when the digits inside him curled.

He knew what Nick was looking for, had read and joked about it, he just hadn’t expected it to actually feel that _good_. This pleasure was unlike the one to which he was accustomed: his erection sent surges that had always felt confined to his groin and pelvis… but this? The fingers stroking his prostate made him feel like giant waves were rolling through the entirety of his lower body, triggering some kind of fervor in his belly that made all of him relax and tighten all at once.

And if he’d been grateful for the bricks the last time, now he was thinking of sending a handwritten thank-you letter to the builder once his brain started working again.

Nick liked hearing him because he started thrusting faster, short, searching jerks that had the smaller man gasping because he’d forgotten how to breathe normally. Each jab spread the pleasure up through him and he spread his legs to feel every bit of it. His lover adjusted, using his free hand to take the place of his lips.

“You like that?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled immediately.

“You close? Want me to make you cum like this?”

Ellis licked his lips. “Yeah.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?”

The mechanic practically wheezed, nodding almost furiously.

Nick looked like he wanted to ask more, but he dropped his head down to kiss from the top of his thigh back towards his lover’s cock. Ellis immediately stuck his hand back into his hair and adamantly did not look away this time. No matter how embarrassing it felt to hump back and forth between the twin points of ecstasy.

Those two thick fingers began an unrelenting pattern against his insides, fast and firm and perfect. Nick’s free hand hadn’t moved from stroking where his mouth couldn’t reach, and the combination of stimulation was proving too much for Ellis to hold off against. He had to snap his own back down to the sheets because he was sure his lover wouldn’t be too happy to have some of his hair ripped out even if it was in the throes of orgasm.

It ended up being the right move because when he came it was so intense, he couldn’t stop himself from arching up. Nick had been ready for it, moving with him while keeping up the speed of his hand. Ellis managed to moan his name and then lost the ability to do much but pant and writhe as his orgasm was milked from him.

It was so overwhelming, so overstimulating that even its aftershocks were almost too much to handle. When he began to lower to the mattress Nick took pity on him and withdrew his fingers and mouth, taking a detour to kiss his belly before easing down beside him. It was a little hard to look at him when he was trying to regulate his lungs and heart, but eventually he reached out a blind arm so he could reel him in.

Nick chuckled and nosed the side of his temple, though Ellis couldn’t tell if it was on purpose. “Good?”

“Uh huh,” the heaving man managed. “…Think I like it juss fine.”

His lover smirked against his head and Ellis tilted his chin up so he could feel it against his lips.

“Gonna taste like you.”

“Don’t care.”

The gambler obliged him, pulling him close and tight as he reclined back. When they parted, he waited until the mechanic could open his eyes to speak. “Think you like all this more than ‘just fine.’”

“Mhm,” Ellis agreed, no matter how pink it made him to do so. He rubbed over the older man’s chest and down again, taking the still rigid dick in hand. He gave it a few lazy strokes, though he felt a little uncoordinated since it was with his left hand. Nick gave his own little sound of satisfaction, so he didn’t think he was the only one enjoying these new things about himself.

He savored their closeness for a few moments before he rose to switch to his dominant hand. He wanted to ask what the other survivor wanted him to do and he wanted to be just as suave about it, but the moment he looked up at him he didn’t think he could be. Nick half-sat up so he could reach to run a thumb over his bottom lip and then back into his hair to direct him.

Ellis went, lying across his roommate’s fuzzy legs so he was propped up and able to use his hand and mouth. The conman also propped himself up on one of his arms, allowing him to trace over the lines of the other survivor’s shoulders and neck and hair. They were affectionate, grateful strokes that encouraged just as much as his words.

“Can you take a little more?” he murmured, petting at the nape of Ellis’ neck.

Rather than respond verbally, the mechanic relaxed his jaw and slowly took a bit more of his dick in, stopping just before the head was close enough to trigger his gag reflex. He was able to withdraw and sink back down, though his tempo was slow. He knew it wasn’t bothering his lover though, not with the husky sighs he was giving.

“Good boy,” Nick lauded.

The momentum was making him forget when to swallow, though the drool that slipped from the corners of his mouth made it easier for his fist to move along the smooth, stiff skin. When he did swallow, though, Nick groaned and shifted against him. It felt like he was trying to hold off, and it sure as hell looked like it when Ellis tilted up to see.

The other man seemed pleased by that, dropping eyes to where his teammate’s lips were wrapped around him. That wasn’t much of a surprise based on all his comments about Ellis’ mouth in the past. So, though it was difficult, the southerner tried to maintain eye contact with him so he could watch for how much that seemed to push him towards the edge.

It almost made him forget to be mindful of his throat and breathing, but he somehow managed between the three to at least return some of the pleasure that had been given to him. When Nick’s big hand wrapped around his he knew he’d done a decent job of it, and when his other one tugged at his hair he stubbornly stayed where he was so it would be a _good _job of it.

The conman didn’t question or try to pull him off again, he just rubbed and stroked what he could reach, and huffed out a warning right before spilling into Ellis’ sucking mouth.

He’d already tasted Nick before—and not to mention himself on his lips—so he didn’t find it very hard to swallow. Well, at least he wasn’t _unwilling_ to swallow, there ended up being quite a bit so he did have to wipe the corner of his mouth on his way back up to lie beside his partner. As was done to him, he moved into that muscular side, practically snuggling there so he could rub across the rapid expansion of Nick’s ribs as he calmed.

The hand that had been petting his head and neck slid along his spine and shoulder blades almost drowsily, though it felt like the pattern was being traced on his heart as much as his back for how sudden an elated feeling of fond affection swelled through him.

“Nick?” he whispered.

“Mm?”

But Ellis tempered it. “Y’think they’d give us lube if we asked real nicely?”

The younger man woke first and was glad to see, for once, that Nick wasn’t on the floor counting out rapid fire push-ups. Rather, he was still asleep, his face evened out as much as his breathing. Ellis stared, keeping himself still because he didn’t want to wake him. He didn’t know how long they had until breakfast, but he wanted to spend it warm beneath the covers and he worried that even breathing too loud would make the conman rise.

He could guess why he wanted to stare, but he figured it wasn’t smart to do so. Matching the feelings inside him to ideas would only make him want to take it a step further and transform them into words. And words were dangerous for him because—unless he was blissed out, apparently—he tended to blab them no matter how inopportune the moment. Nick wasn’t like that. Like him.

So far everything they’d experienced together had been thrust upon them. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that their dire situation and spiking adrenaline hadn’t helped them act on their attraction to one another. But the times they’d been together, on the boat and now in this room, were ones he relished because they’d been able to slow down and figure each other out. And so far, it had been real easy and nice.

It made him feel a little guilty for not being as unhappy as everyone else looked out in the yard, no matter what any doctor wanted from him.

The buzzing of the intercom he’d been dreaded did just as he thought it would, causing Nick to waken with a slight jerk before immediately rolling over towards the noise. When it went off again, he groaned and threw one of his arms over his eyes right before Ellis turned on their lamp.

“Breakfast,” Grady announced, though he didn’t have to.

The younger survivor reached over to snatch up the closest pair of boxers, yanking them up hurriedly over his hips so he wouldn’t be seen stark naked through the little window. Then, hurriedly, he traded out their old trays for new ones so they’d be once again left alone.

Nick was sitting up now, blankets pillowed in his lap, and he took the tray with a jaw cracking yawn.

Ellis smirked and slipped his legs back into the warmth. “Did I wear you out? Thoughtchyou said you weren’t old.”

His lover gave him a wry look, then he nodded at the door. “Did you ask for lube?”

“Y’don’t wanna ask Herrera?”

It didn’t need to be said that by the time their daily recess came about that neither of them were going to ask the angry, little soldier for anything. Not with the snide way he’d referred to them as boyfriends last time. Not that Ellis had minded anything about that but his tone.

No, they’d kept to their friends, or ventured off to talk to other people for a bit. Ellis had opted to go with Nick, enjoying the little hum in his belly that tickled him when they were close. To his surprise, the conman was fairly genial with the few people he approached, and they responded in turn. Because of his disposition they were willing to introduce their friends and be introduced to Ellis in turn.

The young survivor took it as a learning experience. He tried to be subtle in the way he was watching his friend, but he doubted he actually was. It wasn’t something he could help, though. Seeing Nick in his element, schmoozing and gathering information was pretty damn cool. He was exactly like the mechanic had envisioned him early on: like one of those dashing men in con movies.

Or maybe he was still feeling some sort of way after the how they’d spent the night.

Neither his admiration nor that little flutter dampened when he was beckoned to Coach’s side. Their leader’s kindness towards the others he’d met was more forthcoming and genuine. They traded stories before information and the big man sympathized with any tales of loss with a bowed head. It was during one of these moments of quiet that they heard it.

Distantly, several of the survivors had recognized the cry of a Hunter. It had been the first time they’d been able to hear the infected since making it to safety… well, at least the infected they’d seen on the outside. He still wasn’t sure what he’d heard _inside _the walls.

Like the rest of the mob with their own, Ellis moved back towards the three friends who had helped keep him alive. Rochelle was quick to press against one of his sides even though she looked more intrigued than worried by the tilt of her head. Nick surprised him though by stepping up against his free arm, indiscreet but so that their shoulders remained in touched. Before them, Coach stood, stock still and staring upwards at the sky as if that helped him listen better than observing his teammates’ expressions.

There were a few more yells, which made Ellis wonder exactly how close the zombies were and how sturdy the base’s defenses.

Rochelle was the first to speak up, assuming that the army would have to move them eventually, especially if they were hearing the monsters this well. And the fact that the sounds were coming from all different directions made her think they weren’t dealing with only one horde. If that were the case then it was possible something was drawing them to the base, though none of them had heard anything loud enough to do so.

Well, save for the sudden popping of gunfire. From what he could tell it was mostly controlled bursts. At their range it very much sounded like firecrackers going off. It didn’t last too long, either. Maybe only a matter of minutes, before it all tapered off. And after that there were no longer any ghoulish cries or gurgles making a ruckus.

It was hard to not keep listening for more now that the paranoia was set in their bones, though. Luckily, Ellis was diverted from that task due to the more immediate sounds around them. When he and his team turned to find its source, they saw that it was the crowd of their fellow survivors parting, feet skidding concrete and voices an inquisitive murmur. Their quartet was about to do the same when they recognized Grady by both his height and gait beelining straight for them. Rochelle didn’t know him like her friends did so her first instinct was to slip her hand into Ellis’, which was understandable with how worried she’d been when they told her how close he’d come to having more blood irresponsibly taken. He squeezed gently to reassure her.

“McKinney, Caruso, you got a second?” Grady asked, nodding towards an empty space against the wall.

To his surprise, Nick turned to Ellis and waited for him to make the decision.

Pleased, he nodded at the guard and carefully detached his hand from Rochelle’s so they could follow. Once they were out of ear shot of the other carriers, Grady pulled a piece of paper out of one of his pockets, just like he had the day before, and brandished it before them. Nick was closest so he leant in to survey it.

“Bet this pissed Reid off.”

“What’s it say?” Ellis asked.

“It says that _all _patients are now off limits without clearance from Cheng,” Grady explained. He glanced around them. “After you told us what happened we asked around—other soldiers and survivors—and learned you weren’t the first person he followed up on after Cheng took blood.”

“He’s bothered other survivors?” The southerner craned his head. “Which ones?”

The soldier grew silent and looked back down to his paper before taking his sweet time refolding it. When he’d finally finished tucking it away Nick seemed to have figured out the source of his unease.

“They ain’t out here, are they?”

He shook his masked head.

“They all dead?”

Grady sighed and shifted his weight. “I think so.”

“You _think_?”

“Their cells were empty when I went to ask questions. Doctors were supposed to be in charge of certain halls with soldiers assigned to them. Two guesses whose hall they were in.”

“So, none of the soldiers thought it might be a good idea to tell the other doctors or aides?” Nick demanded.

“Yeah, I wanted to know about that, too,” Grady said. “Asked the guys on duty for those halls and they said for half of them they never made it back after the first time. The other patients, though? Apparently, Reid claimed they weren’t carriers which was proven right when they ended up turning.”

“How’s that work?” Ellis asked, shaken. “Y’all put us inta quarantine for two whole days an’ then gave us blood tests’ta check. Don’t make a lick a sense for people here longer to’uv turned.”

“That’s because it’s bullshit,” Nick answered. “And your buddies fell for it.”

“We’re soldiers,” Grady replied simply. “We defer to the specialists like we’re supposed to… and now we’re all deferring to Cheng.”

“And bottom line that means Ellis won’t be bothered again?”

“It means he’ll be safe. Cheng might need another blood donation somewhere down the line, but it won’t be for a while. You’re specifically off limits to anyone but her.”

Ellis found a bit of comfort in that. “Guess you’n Herrera are stuck with us.”

“Something like that,” the soldier murmured. “The real bottom line is we’ve got your back. Doc’s not taking any chances.”

Nick scoffed a bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grady’s mask turned to regard him. Then he sighed deeply. “Nothing you’re gonna like.”

“Why not?” The conman straightened to look beyond the guard’s shoulders to where the crowd was parting again. “Where’s Herrera?”

Ellis turned in time to see that question answered. The shorter soldier was coming through the crowd with two bigger, tougher looking men at his heels. Instinctively, the southerner took a step back and once again didn’t protest when his lover stepped in front of him.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Coach and Rochelle were trying to join their friends before the trio could reach them. They were a step away from succeeding when Grady pointed his taser at them.

“Please don’t make a scene,” he told them.

“A bit too fucking late for that,” Nick hissed back ferally.

“What’re you doin’, man?” Ellis asked sadly.

Herrera and the others were within earshot now, and he was the one who answered. Unexpectedly, his voice held none of the venom it usually cast their way. “Taking you to Cheng. She wants you roomed somewhere nearby so she can keep you safe.”

“Horseshit,” the gambler spat.

“Thought y’all said he _was_ safe now?” Coach demanded. “What else are y’lyin’ to us about?”

“He _is _safe,” the small soldier said, vehement. “Cheng just doesn’t wanna take any chances.”

“Why? Why Ellis?” Rochelle asked, conscious of all the people who were beginning to gather around their dramatic display.

When she didn’t get an answer, Nick all but snarled his own question: “How do I know that’s the truth? You keep throwing around her name, but how the fuck am I supposed to believe she wants to protect him when you’re standing here threatening us?”

“Wouldn’t need to threaten you if you’d stop being a fucking idiot,” Herrera snapped. “He’s coming with us so get out of the way before we have to make you.”

Ellis reached forward to fist his hand in the back of the northerner’s shirt. “She don’t gotta do this; I’m safer with my friends. I wanna stay with them.”

“You don’t get to choose this time, Ellis,” Grady informed him.

“Please,” the reporter chimed in. She was gripping Coach’s arm tightly to keep him in place as much as herself. “Just tell us what’s going on! If—”

“Move out of the way or we’ll make you!” one of the random soldiers shouted. “We have authorization to immobilize anyone who refuses.”

Nick’s body was vibrating under the mechanic’s knuckles and he was suddenly scared that he was seconds away from launching forward and getting killed. And in that moment, that was what scared him most. He could tell by the tone of the two soldiers they’d come to know that they were being the honest people he’d pegged them to be. Or he damn well hoped they were. And besides, he trusted Cheng, even if he disagreed that this was the best option they had.

Maybe if he went to her he could convince her of that.

“Nick,” he called. “It’s okay, I’ll go talk to her.”

The other man sneered. “And then what? She keeps using you as a guinea pig just like Reid was? You end up like—”

The moment he turned to look back at his lover was his mistake. Herrera used his distraction to pull the trigger, launching the electric probes from his taser directly into the conman’s chest.

Nick went down, _hard_. It scared Ellis so bad he wished he could scream like Ro as they watched the ex-con crumple onto his side before the contortions shuddered him onto his back. Rochelle’s yelling turned to words and he could only guess that Coach had immediately tried to charge because the soldiers were threatening to fire again. He didn’t even try to look at them, instead falling to his knees with the intent to snatch the wires and take the full brunt of the shocks just to stop his lover’s pain-induced writhing.

Grady caught his wrist before he could and yanked him back. Ellis scrambled to get his feet underneath him.

“Stop! Stop!” He reared back to face the guard. “I’mma go! Stop!”

Herrera did, deactivating the electricity immediately. Weakly, Nick yanked the barbs out of his chest, but the voltage must have been pretty damn high because then his arm just plopped right back down against the concrete.

Ellis wanted to go to him, but Grady still had a hold on one of his arms. One of the nameless soldiers took up his other so they could work in tandem to walk him to the door.

“Wait,” he begged. “Just lemme check on him.”

Rochelle was doing it for him, all but sliding under her fellow northerner to pillow his head on her thighs. His eyes were open at least, staring up at her. Ellis wished he could see the gray of them. Wished he could hear what the thin lips were saying. Wished he could do anything but struggle as he watched his friends regroup and stare after him as he was led away.

Separated again.

_Alone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any medical inaccuracies! I am not a doctor, and I try my best but this is fiction so I'm sure you'll need to handwave a few things.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Visit Beejie Bean on youtube to watch her L4D2 SFM animations if you have the time. They are wonderful and inspired the scene between Nick and Francis in Rayford.


End file.
